Harleen
by BlueSuedeShoes
Summary: Chloe is on a recruiting mission, trying to pin down Gotham's infamous Dark Knight.  In order to learn more about him, she begins interviewing those he's captured.  What will she do when the Joker escapes and begins targeting her?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Comment: I understand that this story may not be entirely consistent with Nolan's Batman. Mostly this will be a result of my growing up with Batman the Animated Series.**

**Also, if you want a specific visual on Harley, if I could have chosen any actress to play her, it would have been Brittney Murphy. May she rest in peace.**

**Enjoy!**

**BlueSuedeShoes  
**

-1-

"You must be Ms. Sullivan."

"Please, call me Chloe."

"Chloe," the woman corrected, accepting Chloe's offered hand. She had long, thick blonde hair and large, innocent blue eyes, but the thing Chloe noticed most about the woman in front of her was her vivacious, enchanting smile. Wide and full of laughter, she was easy to befriend. "I'm Dr. Quinzel."

She smiled cheerfully at Chloe.

"I understand you're writing a book, then, Chloe?"

Chloe nodded. She had expected to be more than a little uncomfortable on this errand, having not a small phobia where psych wards were concerned. Quinzel, however, was so at ease in her surroundings that it was hard not to take comfort from it. "Yes. I'm researching the criminal mind and not only it's effect on society but society's effect on it. Arkham is one of the world's most infamous assylums, and I felt that this was the best place to begin some of my heavier research."

Quinzel leaned forward across her desk. "A fascinating subject, of course. You'll find it interesting, I think, that most of the patients here are merely victims of circumstance, not true criminals."

"But that certainly can't be true of all of them. This is a high security asylum for a reason." Chloe could have swallowed her entire foot. The dark look that flashed across Quinzel's face told her that she was now treading on extremely thin ice, but suddenly the doctor's face brightened again.

"Well, you'd be surprised. I assume you'd like to interview the patients? I've no doubt that some of them may well change your mind about that once you start getting to know them. I think you'll find some of them can be quite enchanting. They can bring out a side of you you never knew you had."

Chloe smiled back. She doubted it, but she kept that to herself. "I'm sure you're right."

"Well, I have work to attend, but I'm sure you can find your way around? There are guards posted at every doorway in case you get lost."

Chloe's brow furrowed ever so slightly. The way the woman said it...it was as though she thought the guard's only purpose was to provide maps...and that was pushing it.

But Chloe also took it as a cue to leave the woman to her work. She exited the office silently, and once outside, she took a calming breath. She hated this place, hated being there. Everything about it terrified her, and she couldn't wait until she was finished and she could watch it vanish into the distance behind her.

As it was, she could hear wild laughter echoing from down one of the hallways. She chose to avoid that wing for the moment.

Chloe had one purpose and one purpose only for being there. She was on a recruiting mission, one to find Batman, and the giant rodent was impossibly difficult to get a hold of. She had six months, six measly months in Gotham before she had to return to Metropolis. It was all the time she was willing to allot herself to find the bat. Victor could keep a handle on Watchtower while she was away, but she didn't like being so far from the home base for so long.

In her attempt to learn more about Batman, she had just about hit a dead end. Nearly anyone who might be at all an authority on him was unwilling to talk about him. Save for Commissioner Gordon, the majority of the police force was utterly useless, and Gordon's lips were sealed tightly. She didn't blame him for trying to protect the guy, but on the other hand, it was immensely frustrating. It meant she had to resort to posing as a writer in order to interview criminals who had been locked up by Batman. If she could at least talk to them...maybe she could get some insight on what about the Bat was fictional and what facts she could use to start closing in on his identity.

"Nervous?" asked a voice that made Chloe start in surprise. The man chuckled darkly. "Isn't it interesting how the slightest little sound, even a perfectly friendly voice, can make you scream when you're already afraid of something else?"

During this speech Chloe had turned to see a man, one of the prisoners, behind a glass wall. He was smirking at her knowingly.

Chloe collected herself. "And you are?" she asked.

"_Doctor_ Jonathan Crane." He was leaning up against the glass and leering at her. Chloe had to force herself not to take a step back. Tall and lanky, he had scraggly red hair and his long face was sunken in, his cheeks sallow and his smile dark.

"Doctor? Really? Where did you get your PhD, Doctor Crane?"

His face darkened. "From the same worthless university that fired me."

"Ah. I see. I'm sorry."

The leer returned to his face. "Don't be. Why don't you tell me what it is you're afraid of, Miss..."

"Call me Chloe," she smiled, trying to appear less anxious than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of anything."

The leer became enhanced. "Ah, ah, ah, Chloe. Everyone's afraid of something. In your case, I'd guess agateophobia."

"Which would be?" she asked, a grim smile in place. She knew what it meant.

"You're the one writing the book, Chloe. You tell me."

Chloe's mouth twitched. "How did you know I'm writing a book?"

"Miss Sullivan, I have nothing to do all day but listen to what goes on in that office. The acoustics around here are simply marvelous. It's a perfect nightmare for an onomatophobiac."

"Fear of hearing certain words or names," Chloe supplied.

Crane looked at her approvingly, and Chloe wasn't sure she liked it. "I see you _have_ done your homework, Chloe."

Chloe nodded, smirking. "Always. So tell me about yourself, Dr. Crane."

"Oh, please, dear, call me Scarecrow."

Chloe swallowed. "Why don't I call you John? The name suits you better."

For the first time, something akin to friendliness appeared on the man's face. Chloe wasn't certain she liked _that_ either, but it did make him slightly less intimidating.

"Fair enough," he said. "What's to tell? I sit in a glass cell all day. I'd rather hear about you."

Chloe hesitated, but she knew there was no point in trying to force him to talk the first day. She expected to be here every day for weeks. She wondered if she should talk to a different prisoner everyday or several each day.

_What on earth made me think this was a good plan?_

"I lived in Smallville most of my life before moving to Metropolis," she began, walking over to grab a chair that was at the end of the hall. She brought it back to the front of Crane's cell, ignoring the eerie faces watching her as she passed. "Which is where I was born and have lived for the past several years. What else would you like to know?"

He smiled evilly. "What's your darkest fear?"

But Chloe shook her head. "What's yours?" she challenged, and noted his pallor with triumph.

"Fine. What's the scariest thing that's ever happened to you?"

Chloe opened her mouth to respond and then closed it. "You know, that's actually really difficult to say. I've had a lot of scary things happen to me, most of them you wouldn't believe."

"Try me."

"I'd rather not. Will you settle for the most credible 'scariest' thing that's ever happened to me?"

He nodded, shrugging one of his shoulders slightly, clearly disappointed.

Chloe thought, partly sorting through memories she didn't usually care to relive, and partly deciding how much of the truth to give him.

"I was once buried alive," she said, her expression mute.

If possible, he pressed closer to the glass, a manic glint of excitement in his eyes. "By whom?" he asked, fascinated.

"A...cop who was trying to make a name for himself. He kidnapped me so he could be the one to rescue me." She had nearly made what she was sure would have been the mistake of saying 'a psycho, homicidal cop.' She needed to be careful about what she said around there.

She could almost read in his eyes that he could see her real thoughts on the subject though. He didn't seem to mind, just took some sort of grim satisfaction in it. "Sounds like a man at the end of his rope. How did you escape?"

"I almost didn't. My friend was able to find me at the last second. It was nearly too late when he got there, though."

"Sounds like a real hero," he said, an ever-so-slight snideness in his tone. "But then, I suppose it's fortunate, or else I wouldn't be having my first visitor since confinement." Once again that strange flash of twisted kindness entered the man's face. Chloe thought about vomiting.

And yet, a small twinge of pity entered her. He had never had visitors. He was probably a sociopath, someone who had never made friends, perhaps had no family, or no family that cared anyway. "The pleasure is all mine, John," she said, trying to be kind. She had to be kind to these people. Caring wasn't difficult, not for her, she cared too easily, it was warming up to them that was the difficult part. She had done some research on these people, but had decided, all in all, that she wanted to find out their stories first hand before she read up too much. Otherwise she would come in with premature opinions.

"So you're from Metropolis? Is it your book that brings you to Gotham?"

"Yes."

"Why not stay closer to home? Belle Reeve is certainly a much happier, prettier asylum compared to Arkham. Or," he leaned forward again, "is that not the right breed of lunatic for you?"

"I plan to do some research at Belle Reeve as well, but I came out to Gotham first because I plan to move out here, and I can combine my time interviewing here with my time apartment-hunting," Chloe lied easily.

"Moving from Metropolis to Gotham? And all alone? Perhaps you are braver than I thought."

* * *

**Author's Comment: Thanks for reading! Please do me the favor of visiting my homepage to take a look at what I'm working on and to give me feedback of what you'd like to see.**

**BlueSuedeShoes**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Comment: You may want to have Wikipedia on hand if you don't know your Batman villains especially well. Otherwise this may not all make sense.**

-2-

Chloe shuddered. She'd been going to Arkham for five days now, and while she was starting to relax a bit, that maniacal laugh still got to her every now and then.

So far she had spoken with Jonathan Crane, Pamela Isley, Temple Fugate, and Matt Hagen. She'd found that the best way to get them to talk about Batman was not through direct questions, but by getting them to talk to her, warm up to her. Eventually they started talking about it more.

What was beginning to disturb Chloe was the affection these criminals were starting to have for her. She knew it was mostly just that they enjoyed getting the attention, but to a certain extent, they were starting to like her.

It was quite disconcerting.

From Jonathan Crane, she had gathered only that Batman had some strong fears regarding his parents and bats. Apparently after being sprayed by Crane's fear gas, he had heard Batman muttering something about his father, but he hadn't said much more. No one ever did. According to Crane, it only made sense that Batman should have a fear of bats.

"Why else dress as one? If he thought bats were cute and cuddly, he wouldn't try to intimidate his enemies with that ridiculous get up."

Chloe thought this was a bit rich, coming from a man who had masqueraded as a scarecrow. She also didn't know how helpful it was to learn that Batman was afraid of bats, but the mention of parents did intrigue her. Were his parents living or dead? And why was he afraid of his father? Had his father been abusive? Or somehow a frightening man? Or was it something more subtle? Like the inability to live up to expectations? Was it possible that the Dark Knight's worst fear was that he had failed his parents? All questions she didn't have answers for.

Pamela Isley was probably the least fond of Chloe, though Chloe guessed she was just irritated with the interruption to her daily life. Isley had a single potted rose in her cell, something she tended and spoke to as if it were her child, and she clearly preferred its company to those of the 'inferior' humans around her. But even she seemed to enjoy having someone who spoke back around, if only to a certain degree.

From Isley, she had learned only a little as well. Isley spoke of Batman with conflicting statements. She often referred to him in a degrading way, a hint of disgust in her voice. At others, she spoke with a touch of admiration, even attraction. It would take quite a man to win over someone like Pamela Isley, Chloe decided. What the redhead did confirm for Chloe was the one thing she'd been counting on, hoping for: Batman's humanity.

"He's not such a bad guy," Isley admitted grudgingly. "He'd never leave you to die, not if he can help it. Trouble with him is that he cares more about people than he does about plants. Misguided fool. Can you imagine, Miss Sullivan?"

It was what she wanted to hear. Of course, most people aside from Isley cared more about people than plants, but it was the part about not leaving the criminals out to dry that gave her hope that her search for Batman was worth it. He never truly took justice into his own hands, only handed over crooks to the police...however much they might resent it.

Temple Fugate was...annoying as mosquitoes. He was ridiculously uptight and pretentious, but Chloe felt a bit more sympathy once she heard his background. It wouldn't take much for such a tightly wound man to snap, and he'd certainly been on the wrong side of the fate that one day. Chloe had quickly gotten on his good side though. First, she used some of the ample budget Oliver had provided her with and invested in atomic watch. No one had given Fugate the time of day - literally - in years, and it had made her a queen in his eyes. Then, in order to ensure that she kept on his good side, she made a point of stopping to talk to him at the exact same time of day every day. He was smugly pleased when she stopped in front of his cell to the exact second each time. Even Fugate had managed to give her a small insight into Batman.

"He's calculating. Calm under pressure. Every move he makes is carefully thought out and he never panics. His resourcefulness is...remarkable. But do tell me whether I should expect you this time tomorrow or not? I imagine you must have a separate schedule on the weekends from the weekdays."

It was another good sign. If he was that calculated, it meant there was some maturity behind that mask. This was no child who'd taken a sudden whim into his head to fight crime. This was someone who had put thought into his chosen life.

And then there was Matt Hagen. She had to train herself to look at him as though he were an attractive man, even when he wasn't able to keep his form, slipping into apile of clay-like sludge. She researched a few of his movies, so she could ask him about them, which flattered him immensely, but she kept herself just ignorant enough on them that she didn't come off to him as a fangirl. To help herself out, she made a point of turning her lashes down a bit, as though she were shy. The fact that she constantly tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened out her clothes added a nice touch, but the deal was sealed when he realized she was the reporter who had once interviewed Rachel Davenport, a former friend of his. Hagen had given her possibly the most helpful information of all.

"First of all, the guy's gotta be loaded. That's what I figure. Otherwise how's he gonna afford all those gadgets and that suit, huh? I worked on a movie once where we used some Kevlar. Expensive stuff. You gotta know he's not the guy to steal, so he must have dough. Only explanation. So you seen any movies lately? There's this actor these days I've been hearin' a lot about. Bale, I think. He any good?"

Now that was what Chloe called a clue. She'd had her suspicions before, but Hagen confirmed it. Batman must have access to vast resources. The question was where they came from. Was he openly rich? Or did he have some mysterious secret source of wealth that no one knew about? Perhaps he was backed by someone who was rich, who provided him with all his toys, an accomplice of sorts.

It seemed to Chloe that every ounce of information brought her still more questions. She was gaining insight on Batman, but very little that could help her determine who he really was.

By Friday at the end of her first week, Chloe was worn out with all the stories swimming around in her head. She approached Dr. Quinzel's office to say goodbye, and she was startled when she heard a frustrated growl from the other side of the door.

She knocked, and the response was an irritated, "Yeah?"

Chloe peered around the door. "Is this a bad time?"

Quinzel looked embarrassed. "What? Oh, no," she blushed. "I was just...taking a little break."

She looked down at her desk and Chloe laughed slightly. "Solitaire giving you trouble?"

"You would not believe what an annoying game this is," she sighed, leaning her elbow on her desk and resting her chin in her hand. "One of my patients taught me how to play it, and I have not won a single game. Multi-player card games I'm aces at, but for some reason I just cannot get the hang of solitaire."

Chloe grinned, leaning over to look at the cards laid out on Quinzel's desk. "I never really liked this game myself; it gets kind of boring playing by yourself after a while. But then, sadly enough, I was always pretty good at it. There," she pointed. "You can move the two of hearts onto the ace, and then pull the two of diamonds over in its place so you can flip the next card."

Quinzel's eyes lit up. "I completely missed that! What a funny little game," she sighed dreamily as she followed Chloe's instructions.

"Which of the prisoners taught you how to play?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously now. "Patients," she corrected.

Chloe seemed to put her foot in her mouth a lot around this woman. "Well I've got all the patience in the world, but I figured you could answer more quickly than that," she joked, feeling like an idiot.

Quinzel stared at her for a moment before laughing loudly. "That was _funny_!" she cried out delightedly.

Chloe raised her eyebrows. It wasn't _that_ funny_. _ She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a riot. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you, and to let you know that I'll be returning next Monday, as long as that's still convenient."

Quinzel nodded. "Of course. Is there anything I can do for you? Any questions you have for me?"

"I will have a few eventually, I'm sure, but nothing at the mo -" Chloe paused. "Well, actually, I do have one, but it's mostly for curiosity's sake, not really for the book."

"What's that?" she smiled.

"What do you think of Batman?"

Chloe wasn't prepared for the dramatic reaction she got. She had never seen Quinzel look so horribly angry. "He's a brute. A worthless thug. He's the one who should be in a cell, if you ask me. Every time the patients come in here, they seem to have been beaten to a pulp. It's plain inhumane. He's half the reason so many of them are unhinged. Look at Jonathan Crane. The first three weeks he was in here he was crying hysterically about bats, rocking back and forth in the fetal position. He still howls in his sleep about them every night. If you ask me, ole Bats is half the reason most of them make the mistakes they do. If he had any decency, he'd leave them alone. Let the police decide what's right and what's wrong."

Chloe didn't have the slightest idea how to respond to that. She wasn't sure she could. Her reflex was to argue Batman's case, but she realized by the fevered look in the doctor's eyes that it would be no use.

"I guess I never looked at it from that perspective before," she said finally, deciding that was the safest response.

The woman relaxed again, and her smile returned as she suddenly spotted an another move she could make with her cards. She made a small triumphant sound as she slapped one card down on top of another. "What makes you ask about the Bat, anyway?"

Chloe shrugged. "I don't know. I've only been in Gotham for about two weeks, and it seems he's in the papers all the time."

The doctor rolled her eyes. "Ain't it the truth. I've gotten to the point where all I read is the comics. It's nice to start the day with a laugh. Who cares about the news when it's nothing but taxes and death, death and taxes?"

"Hmm. Right. Well, I'll see you on Monday. Have a lovely weekend, Dr. Quinzel."

Quinzel, whose attention had already been drawn back in by the card game, glanced back up. "Oh, call me Harleen."

"Bye, Harleen," Chloe said awkwardly before shutting the door. She wasn't sure she _liked _calling Dr. Quinzel 'Harleen.' Up until that particular afternoon, she had always been so...professional. It wasn't to say she wasn't nice, just that she was a bit, well, straight-laced.

She shook her head. Maybe the good doctor had an inner weekend warrior just like everyone else.

Chloe, personally, was looking forward to her weekend. She was going to spend the majority of it compiling data, of course, but she was expecting a visit from Clark the next morning, and that evening she was planning to detox with a nice long bubble bath and a little room service.

_God bless Oliver for upgrading my hotel suite._

**Author's Comment: I know what you're thinking. You're asking yourself, "But where, oh, where is Bruce?" Well my dear, he is coming.**

**BlueSuedeShoes**


	3. Chapter 3

**-2-**

Chloe stepped outside of Arkham and heaved a sigh. Was it just her, or was there always a dark storm cloud hanging over that building? And, naturally, she'd accidentally left her umbrella in the taxi that morning.

"Great," she muttered miserably, standing under the shelter of the doorway. She wrapped her raincoat more snuggly around her, turning up the collar to protect herself as best as she could. With a deep breath she made a run for it.

She had to get down the long, winding drive up to Arkham on her own, puddles of rain and mud splashing up around her ankles. She hated the walk, especially in the rain, but it was no use. There wasn't a taxi driver in the city who was willing to pick her up at the door of Arkham. Most of them wouldn't go within two blocks of the place.

_Tomorrow I'm investing in a pair of rainboots,_ she thought, looking down at her now thoroughly ruined heels. _This is ridiculous._

There is little that is more unpleasant in this world than wet shoes and stockings, but standing in the rain trying to hail a taxi in Gotham while _wearing_ wet shoes and stockings definitely falls into that category. Therefore Chloe, perfectly understandably, was not in the most pleasant of moods when someone bumped into her on the street, knocking her off balance and sending her staggering to the left, causing, regrettably, her foot to step into the six inch river of water coursing through the gutter. Nor could anyone really blame her for the slightly colorful language that escaped her lips in response.

"I'm so sorry. Are you all right?" asked a male voice. Internally, Chloe gave whoever it was credit for the fact that he even paused long enough to notice he'd bumped her. It was slightly unusual for a Gotham local.

...Okay. It was flat out unheard of.

But thanks to the sensations wrought by her thoroughly soaked foot, Chloe was in no humor to be forgiving. She spared the well-meaning man only a grimace and the curt, monosyllabic response, "Fine," before she started heading down the street again.

The man glanced at Chloe, then up at Arkham Asylum, then back to Chloe. He shook his head and turned around.

"Wait up!" he called after her.

Chloe, immensely surprised, turned to look at him, pausing in wait.

"I'm sorry," he said, catching up. "I just...do you need a ride anywhere? It's a terrible day to be walking home."

"Well, I was planning on taking a...umm...a..._taxi_," Chloe breathed, having suddenly caught the man's eyes. They were rather distracting.

He raised an eyebrow. "Out here? Nonsense. You won't be able to find one for another two-and-a-half blocks. Let me give you a ride."

Chloe bit her lip. What was it all those after-school specials were always saying? Something about never taking a ride from strangers. Finally, she shook her head. He might be handsome, but so was Ted Bundy.

"I'm sorry, but I'll be just fine on my own," she said, trying not to sound ungrateful. "Thank you, though."

"Let me at least lend you my umbrella until you get a cab," he persisted, raising his umbrella slightly in indication.

"I...that's really..." she stammered, trying to remember what the question was, "that would be...very nice," she gave in, finally, releasing a breath of relief. Those eyes were almost hypnotizing.

_This is pathetic. I can stare into the eyes of serial killers all day long and not flinch, but one handsome face is my complete undoing._

"Wonderful," he said, holding the umbrella over her head. "Where are you heading?"

"Well, there's usually a guy who's willing to meet me on 84th." She glanced at her watch. "He should be there by now."

He looked at her in surprise. "Usually," he repeated. "How often do you come out this way?"

She sighed. "Every day for a week now."

He stared openly. "Excuse me if it's too bold to ask, but, well, _why_?"

Chloe chuckled. "I'm doing research at Arkham."

"What kind of research?"

She rattled off her readily prepared lie about writing a book. She wasn't sure, but she could almost hear in his response that he didn't really believe her.

"A book, huh? Interesting. I'm sure you're the first. Most people won't go in there to save their own lives."

Chloe shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"Not so bad?" he repeated dubiously.

"I don't know. I'm not going to lie and say it isn't a little eerie, but even the most psychotic criminals have a background. They weren't born that way, so even with the worst of them, there's still a hint of humanity in there somewhere."

"Somewhere _deep_ down," he added dryly.

"Even so."

"And they...talk to you?"

She nodded. "Imagine if you never got any visitors, and you couldn't expect any visitors for the rest of your life. Wouldn't you talk to the person who's practically asking for your life story?"

He didn't respond, but looked thoughtful.

Suddenly Chloe frowned. "What were you doing over there?"

"Nothing particular."

Her eyes narrowed. "Nothing particular? Your car was parked out at the end of the drive, and there's nowhere else to go but Arkham. People don't just take strolls by Gotham."

He sighed, a hint of melodrama behind the sound and laughter in his eyes. "Business. Nothing very interesting, just a little business."

"And what is it you do?"

He shrugged. "A lot of things."

"Are you always this vague?"

He chuckled. "Maybe I'm just hoping I've piqued your curiosity enough that you'll want to see me again," he said, as they reached a street corner where a cab was parked and waiting for Chloe.

Chloe raised an eyebrow and her lips thinned, suppressing a smile. "Are you asking me out? If so, you're doing that very vaguely, too."

He gave a smile that landed somewhere between a grin and smirk, the effect of which was quite charming. "Would you like to get dinner tomorrow night, Miss...?"

Chloe sighed. "Chloe Sullivan." She offered her hand. "And dinner would be nice."

He shook it pleasantly. "Bruce Wayne."

Barely perceptible surprise flashed across Chloe's face. _The_ Bruce Wayne? She'd heard Oliver talk about him before.

_Didn't see that coming. Who made the law that looks and money go together, anyway? _she thought to herself, once again appreciating his handsomely carved chin and dark, brooding eyes.

She plucked a pen from her purse and a grocery receipt from earlier that morning, jotted down her phone number on it and handed it to him.

He looked at it for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. "That's an awful lot of coffee."

She rolled her eyes and opened the door of the cab, climbing in. "Goodbye, Mr. Wayne."

He grinned. "Goodbye, Miss Sullivan." He shut the door and then walked around to tap on the driver's window, which was promptly rolled down. Bruce discreetly handed the driver a wad of cash. "Take Miss Sullivan wherever she'd like to go, Arnold. It's on me."

"Yessir, Mr. Wayne. Wherever she wants, Mr. Wayne," said the Arnold, a slight man with a receding hairline and an accent that implied Brooklyn origins.

Chloe started to lean forward to tell her driver that was entirely unnecessary and that he should return the money, but before she could, Bruce was walking away and Arnold was rolling the window up.

"Where to, Miss Chloe?" Arnold asked as he pulled away from the curb, wiper blades going furiously.

Chloe sighed, slumping in her seat defeatedly. "Same as usual, Arnold. Straight to the hotel."

"Friday night, Miss Chloe. Ain'tchoo got any plans?"

"Nothing that involves leaving the comfort of a hot bubble bath, Arnold."

Arnold clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Girls like you should have at least ten men to choose from on a Friday night," he said.

Chloe sighed. Another day she might have had a quirky comeback, but this time, she just didn't have the gumption. She was too exhausted. Arnold seemed to sense this because otherwise he left her in peace for the rest of the ride, a gesture Chloe greatly appreciated. All she wanted was to get home and get out of her wet clothes.

Her mind flashed back to Bruce Wayne. What was she thinking agreeing to a date? She was in Gotham on business. Not to run around looking for playmates.

Not to mention the fact that her business was going poorly. She wasn't really sure how helpful interviewing the inmates of Arkham Asylum was going to be after all. Yes, she was learning things, but were they things that could somehow lead her to Batman? Or was she just chasing useless fluff?

_Maybe a weekend off is exactly what I need. Clear my head. Sort through my information. Find out whether I'm getting what I need or not._

Even to herself, though, she didn't admit that she might be able to profile Batman, but even if she figured out who he was, she had no means of contacting him.


	4. Chapter 4

-4-

"Yikes!"

The exclamation slipped forth from Chloe's lips as she scalded her foot on the two hot bath water.

Releasing a slow breath she turned back to the faucet and added a little cool water before trying again..

She couldn't help the groan she emitted this time as she slid into the tub, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Her soaking wet clothes lay in a heap on the tile floor of the hotel bathroom, one by one having been peeled from her body and discarded with utmost contempt. Her shoes, now ruined beyond hope, were in the waste basket. She'd get a new pair. It wasn't worth it.

In the background she had music playing, a CD Victor had loaned her, saying she'd like it. She wasn't really listening, though. All she could think about was the hot water, rinsing away all the anguish and anxiety that week had brought. Slowly she felt her muscles relax, almost as if it were happening in layers until finally it reached her very bones and she turned to a completely useless pile of...human.

She stayed like this for ages, until finally the water began to turn cold and she had to force herself to get out. She had data to compile.

She slid on the soft white bathrobe and toweled off her hair lightly before stepping out of the bathroom.

Just as she was sitting down to the desk with her laptop, though, a small gust of wind hit her. She looked up into the unforgettable baby blues of Clark Kent.

"Jeez, Clark!" Chloe clutched her heart, sitting down in surprise. Then she realized she was in a bath robe. She clutched it a little tighter. "God, Lois is right. What if I'd been naked? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning."

But Clark's usual sheepish face was not in place, nor was there any hint of laughter in his expression. Instead he was looking rather grim as he held something up.

"This wouldn't happen to belong to you would it?"

Chloe looked in surprise at the rather eccentric ruby necklace.

"N-no," she stammered. Even if she could afford it, she wouldn't be caught wearing something that gaudy if she could help it.

Clark sighed defeatedly. "Great. Excuse me."

He vanished, and Chloe blinked in surprise. The next instant he returned again.

"What was that about?"

"I found a couple of cat burglars tied up on your balcony. That was lying next to them."

"What?" Chloe gasped, eyes widening.

"I already dropped the crooks off at the police station, but I take it they must have hit one of the other rooms before they were captured. I just dropped off the necklace with the clerk downstairs.

"You already took the burglars away?" Chloe asked, almost whining.

He frowned. "Well, yeah."

"Shoot!" she hissed under her breath.

He looked at her in surprise. "What did you want me to do with them?"

"I was hoping I could get some answers out of them."

"Answers about what?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, but she chuckled nonetheless. "Why am I _in_ Gotham, Clark?"

Clark looked at her for a moment before the pieces suddenly clicked. Now he _did _look sheepish, and Chloe had to smile. "Oh. Sorry."

She shrugged. "Forget it. No big deal."

Clark felt incredibly guilty. He should have realized those guys might be helpful to Chloe.

"Maybe you'll be able to interview them at the police station tomorrow," he suggested.

"Good idea," she nodded. She wasn't sure whether or not the police would be able to hold the crooks long enough for that, but she didn't vocalize that. "Um, Clark, would you mind if I change really quickly?" she asked finally.

Clark started. Then he blushed that good ol' farmboy scarlet she'd become so familiar with over the years. "Right. Go ahead."

Smiling, Chloe fished her pajamas out of a drawer before walking back to the bathroom to change.

"So what are you doing here, anyway?" Chloe asked through the door as she dressed herself.

"Just checking up on you," Clark replied casually, glancing at the stacks of papers on her desk.

Chloe frowned. Why did that sound like it was a typical routine? "For no particular reason? Or was there something you wanted?"

"Not especially. Oliver wanted to know if you'd found anything on the Bat." He flipped through the files on the desk, a little curious. Knowing Chloe, there was probably some sort of obsessive order to all of them, an organizational system that she - and she alone - could navigate.

"Yes and no," she sighed. "I'm working on it."

Clark set the files back down and looked at the door of the bathroom in surprise. "That's it?"

"Well, not being his best friend and all, it's a little more difficult to figure out who he is than it has been in previous cases," Chloe replied sourly, exiting the bathroom.

Sensing a sore subject, Clark backed off. "Sorry. Guess that's why you'll be here six months," he shrugged.

Chloe nodded, her mood lightening again. Though she could feel the tension returning between her shoulders.

She sat down. "So is there anything else I can do for you, Clark? Like I said, I really wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning," she added pointedly. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see Clark. It was just that she'd been planning on an evening to herself, and she still had a lot of work to do. She wanted to use her weekend to the fullest extent possible. The less time she spent at Arkham, the happier she would be. Besides, there was something she was eager to take a look at.

Clark shrugged. "No, I guess not."

Chloe walked over and gave him a hug. "Thanks for looking after me," she said, reaching up on her toes to peck his cheek. She might resent it, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate it on some level.

Deep down.

Clark returned the hug quickly, and left soon after, leaving Chloe free to peruse her balcony unhindered by a second presence.

She looked down. She was on the twelfth floor. It was incredibly impressive that the burglars had gotten up there, not to mention Batman as well. She ran her fingers along the marble wall and noticed some scuff marks. Nothing useful, seeing as she already knew what Batman's costume was made of, and the marks were more likely to be from the crooks in any case. She turned around and scanned the floor to make sure Clark hadn't mistakenly missed anything. He hadn't. And she was sure there hadn't been that much left behind to begin with.

A question finally hit her. Why would Batman leave the crooks behind? Wouldn't it be more like him to drop them off with the police himself?

"What the heck is with these men?" she sighed, leaning back against the balcony and folding her arms. Mentally she went through the possible reasons for leaving them on her balcony, practically gift-wrapped.

Did her know about her? Was it possible he left them there as some sort of calling card, aware that this was _her_ hotel room? Did he know she was looking for him?

That made absolutely no sense whatsoever. She scratched it off as paranoia.

Did he leave them as a warning to the hotel, hoping they would amp up security?

Maybe. But it still seemed a bit ridiculous.

Finally, she determined the most logical explanation: he was in a hurry. Simple and ludicrous though it sounded, it made the most sense. He'd taken the time to stop them, but he didn't have enough to go all out.

Now the real question emerged? Did he not have time because crime was on such a wild spree in Gotham? Or did he not have time because his alternate persona had to be somewhere.

"Dilemmas, dilemmas," she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the side of the building as she raised them up to the starry sky. And then she caught sight of something.

It stood out sharply, even in the darkness of the evening, black against the white stones of the building.

She walked over to the point where the wall of the balcony met the wall and leaned over, reaching for it, but it was far out of her grasp. She looked down to the street stories below her, knowing she'd regret it.

But she did it anyway. With a sigh, she nimbly climbed up on the railing, her bare feet already getting a bit numb from the cold. At least it had stopped raining since she'd arrived at the hotel, but the balcony was still wet with pooled rainwater.

_Not my brightest idea_, she thought to herself, as she slipped ever so slightly. Nonetheless, she stretched up on her toes, bracing herself against the wall, her fingers just barely finding purchase on the cold stones.

Her efforts were rewarded, however, when she grasped the object in her fingertips.

She still didn't breathe easy until her feet were safely planted on the floor of the balcony. Then she took a moment to fully appreciate her prize, turning it over in her fingertips.

Cold, hard metal with sharp edges.

Black.

And shaped like a bat.


	5. Chapter 5

-5-

Chloe had been up the entire night by the time Clark arrived to take her for breakfast the next morning.

Still, she had formed a somewhat helpful physical profile and an intriguing but otherwise useless psychological profile of him.

The trouble with the physical profile was that it could describe just about anyone. He was tall, about 6 foot, give or take a couple of inches. From what she had deduced of her few blurry photographs of him, he had brown eyes.

From what she'd learned at Arkham he was an athletic god: well versed in several different kinds of martial arts...maybe all of them for all she knew. Broad shouldered and muscular, he created an imposing figure, aided by the kevlar suit, of course, but mostly just man.

She was going over her brief psychological profile of him for the third time, searching for some tidbit, some overlooked clue that would give her some real help when Clark appeared, knocking on the door for what she expected must be the first time in at least five years. Apparently he was taking heed of walking in on her wearing nothing but a short bathrobe the previous night.

Their breakfast had been full of Lois. Partly because Lois called at some point during the meal, found out Clark had gone to visit Chloe, and then insisted on speaking to Chloe as well, but mostly because every conversation seemed to turn back to Lois.

"Clark, will you just admit you like Lois?"

Clark's shocked face was priceless. "_Like_ her? As in being _attracted_ to her? Chloe have you lost your mind?"

Chloe just smirked knowingly. One of these days the two of them would figure it out. Hopefully sooner than later.

Later in the morning, after Clark had gone again, Bart had dropped in for a surprise visit, which was perfect because she felt more comfortable asking Bart to deliver the party favor she had found last night than she did with Clark. It wasn't that she didn't trust Clark, it was just that...it was practically in Bart's job description to be team courier, and she didn't want to abuse Clark when she knew he had a lot going.

Bart certainly didn't mind.

He also joined her on her trip to the police station around lunch time, occasionally vanishing and returning with food as they went. She was pleased to find that the crooks Clark had taken in the night before were being held on bail for previous charges, but she was still disappointed in the long run. The crooks hadn't even really seen Batman. He'd come flying in one minute, and the next he was leaving and they had been knocked out cold and tied up. They didn't even know how they'd gotten to the police station (luckily for Clark).

"Cheer up, Chloelicious. You'll get something soon," Bart had said. "If anyone can figure it out. It's you."

"Haven't I seen you in here before?" asked a woman's voice with a hint of a Spanish accent.

Chloe turned to see an attractive Hispanic woman in an officer's uniform. "I - um, well, yeah, probably. I've been in a couple of times looking for someone willing to give me an interview. You are?" Chloe extended her hand, but the woman eyed it suspiciously.

"An interview on what?"

"She's writing a book," Bart piped up. "But I can think of other reasons to interview you. Maybe over candlelight?" he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Does he belong to you?" the woman asked dryly, but both Chloe and Bart saw the hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Only some of the time," Chloe joked. "But what did you say your name was?"

The woman looked up. "Depends on what kind of book you're writing."

"Criminal psychology. I've stopped by the police station once or twice now in hopes of getting someone to talk to me about Batman."

The woman immediately got defensive. "Batman is _not_ a criminal! He's a damn hero is what he is!"

Chloe immediately backed up a step. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that he was! I don't think he is! I mean...the thing is...the book started out as criminal psychology, but Batman's sort of...distracted me from the original plan. I think he's a hero, too. I'm just really curious about him."

The woman looked at Chloe searchingly, apparently decided that Chloe was telling the truth, and calmed down a bit. "I'm sorry," she said. "You just hear so much bull about him -" Chloe noticed her eyes shot to an overweight detective sitting at his desk and eating a donut, "- it gets old after a while. That guy has probably saved the life or job or both of just about every officer in the department at some point or another. They say he's a vigilante, but...well, as far as I know, he's never passed a sentence on anyone, just turns them in. Tell you what, I wish he was on the force. He'd make one hell of a detective." She seemed to realize she was ranting then. "I'm sorry," she held out her hand. "Officer Montoya," she introduced herself. "Everybody just calls me by my last name," she added, shrugging as Chloe took her hand.

"Chloe Sullivan."

"Bart Allen," Bart threw in eagerly, shaking Montoya's hand as well.

Montoya's mood seemed to have lightened immensely now, and she grinned as she shook Bart's hand in return.

"So how much have you found out about Batman?"

Chloe's own mood deflated slightly. "Not much that's very useful. Everything I learn just makes me more curious, though. He's...well, he's an enigma. I -" but then she blushed and just stopped altogether.

Montoya eyed her. "Hunh," was all she said. "Well, listen. I'd help you out, but you're not gonna find too many people around here who're willing to tell you much. Bats is kind of off-limits, ya know? Anyone who is willing to talk to you," her eyes once again shot to the detective, who was licking the leftover glaze from his fingers, "probably isn't a real reliable source."

Chloe nodded. "I've been finding that out for myself. But you guys should know: I'm not looking to expose him or exploit him or anything like that. I'm just...curious."

But Montoya just shrugged. "Maybe you are. Either way, I really can't help you much. I gotta get going. Paperwork," she indicated her desk. "Had someone randomly drop a couple of wanted catburglars on our doorstep last night. Normally I'd say it was the bat but...well I don't know. Weird stuff. Anyway," she caught herself, "nice meeting ya, Sullivan."

Chloe watched Montoya head back to her desk and Bart watched Chloe with suspicious eyes all the way out of the police department.

Outside he rounded on her. "What's with you?"

Chloe looked genuinely surprised. "What's with me what?"

"You got a crush on the bat or something?"

Chloe laughed. "Bart! I haven't even met him!"

Bart didn't say anything else, but he by no means seemed placated, even when he departed for Metropolis later that afternoon.

It was about half an hour after Bart left that Chloe's cell phone started going off. She sighed and she started digging around her hotel room for it, trying to remember where she'd put it. She was expecting a call from Oliver about the weapon she'd sent him. Emil was supposed to be taking a look at it for them.

She finally found it and answered it hurriedly before she could miss the call. "Hey, Ollie," she said, clutching the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she leaned over her computer, pulling up the short file she had on all of Batman's toys. "Whaddaya have for me?"

There was hesitation on the other end. "I'm sorry...maybe I've got the wrong number."

Chloe faltered at the familiar voice - one that definitely did _not_ belong to Oliver Queen. "Oh I'm sorry!" she rushed. "I was expecting a call from someone. This is Chloe Sullivan. Who is this?"

The voice relaxed again. "This is Bruce Wayne. We met the other day outside..."

"Arkham," Chloe finished. "Of course. I remember. How are you, Mr. Wayne?"

"Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're still interested in dinner tonight or not."

Chloe felt her cheeks flush. "I...haven't made any plans, no."

"How is 6:30 for you?" there was a grin in his voice.

"I think..." she hesitated, looking at her files and wondering if she shouldn't be devoting her night to research, instead of galavanting off with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. She shook herself. One night wouldn't hurt anything, right? She had six months. "I think that would be fine."

"Where can I pick you up?"

"The Four Seasons."

"I'll be there."

"Where are we going?"

"For me to know and you to find out," he said, and Chloe was about to protest, but he didn't give her the chance. "I'll see you tonight, Miss Sullivan. Looking forward to it." And he hung up.

Chloe stared at the phone.

"I hate surprises," she grumbled, walking over to her bed and flopping down on it face first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Short, I know, but it was all I was able to crank out for this story at the moment. My muse is dragging me off in other directions. However, I wanted to make sure I updated at least a little.**

**BlueSuede**

-6-

Chloe was not necessarily a woman who was easily romanced. With her romantic history, she had grown rather...difficult when it came to men. Sure, Bruce had been nice, nice enough to get a phone number off of her. He was the first in a very long time.

Still, that hadn't meant she was actually expecting the date to go well, nor was she expecting to have any desire to see him again when it was over.

But Bruce was throwing her a definite curve ball. He was...well, truth be told, he was good. For a woman who was convinced she was _unsweepable_, Chloe had the distinct impression that she was being swept off of her feet.

She had expected dinner at an expensive restaurant, or maybe tickets to an art show or something else sophisticated like that. The usual cliches that Lex and Oliver usually broke out for first dates.

Bruce had surprised her. He had arrived at the front of the hotel in his own car - no limo in sight, although there _was_ a chauffeur - with a picnic basket. Of course, the picnic basket was full, Chloe soon discovered, of gourmet foods: tomato bisque, toast points with a spread made of sun dried tomatoes and roasted garlic, veal marsala, and finally, creme brulee for dessert.

With or without the delicious food prepared by Bruce's chef, though, Chloe would have been impressed.

He had taken her to the Gotham Observatory, a building he apparently had paid for, as Chloe discovered when she read the plaque outside the building, which gave him the right to clear the place for the night for his own personal use. Chloe caught herself wondering if he'd reserved that right when he donated the money, or if he'd simply given the staff the night off, or perhaps he'd had to bribe them all regardless. Either way, she found herself sitting in the midst of the Observatory, eating veal marsala that was better than anything she'd ever tasted before, deep in conversation with Bruce about the upcoming elections in Gotham, when things began to go awry.

It was her cell phone that hammered the first nail in the coffin of her evening.

She was embarrassed that it never occurred to her to turn it off, but knew she wouldn't have if she had remembered because the only people who ever called her were the team...and Lois. In this case, though, it was Oliver, and she knew she couldn't just ignore the call.

"I'm so sorry," she said to Bruce, "it's just...would you mind?"

"Of course not," he smiled. "Take your time." He checked his watch. "We've still got at least an hour and a half."

She frowned, not knowing what he was talking about, but she didn't ask him. "I'm just going to step outside for a moment, if you don't mind." He nodded pleasantly.

As soon as she stepped outside she answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chlo, it's Ollie."

"I know. Can you make it quick? I'm in the middle of something."

He paused. "In the middle of what? Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I'm just out to dinner."

Another pause. Then, in a thin, disapproving voice:

"With whom?"

"Ollie!"

"Sorry. Anyway, Emil got back to me on the item you sent him."

"And?"

"He says that Wayne Industries is the most likely manufacturer. There's a man there who practically runs the bu-"

"Bruce?"

This time the pause was still more suspicious.

"What do you mean, 'Bruce?' Have you met Bruce Wayne?"

"Possibly. Anyway, is he the man I should talk to?"

"No. Lucius Fox. That's the man you want to see. What do you mean, 'possibly?'"

"I may have...made his acquaintance the other day. That's all. And I know he owns the company, so I just assumed...whatever. So Lucius Fox, huh? Got it. I'll track down his information and try to set up a meeting with him."

"Already done. Are you on a date with Bruce Wayne?"

"When?"

"Now."

"No, I mean when is the appointment?"

"I'm not telling you until you answer the question."

"Possibly. That's an answer. So when's the meeting?"

"You do realize the reputation he has, don't you?"

Chloe snorted.

"Chloe."

"His reputation, Ollie? You mean the one that's identical to yours? Right. When's the meeting."

"You're supposed to be in Gotham on business. What are you doing out on a date?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oliver, so help me, if you don't tell me when that meeting is set for and hang up the phone, I will _go home_ with Bruce Wayne tonight."

"So you admit you're on a date with him."

"OLIVER!"

"Fine. Next Wednesday at 2:00 in the afternoon at his office at the Wayne Enterprises building. For the love of all things decent, don't go home with him or I will send Bart after you."

"Goodbye, Ollie," Chloe laughed, hanging up on him. She quickly punched the meeting information into her Blackberry before starting to turn inside.

That was when the second nail was hammered in the evening's coffin, though she didn't actually know it yet. Just as she put her hand on the door, the already clear evening suddenly became brighter. She looked up into the sky where she saw the Batsignal carving out an unclear form on the cloudless night sky.

Inspiration dawned, and she could kick herself for never thinking of it before. She needed to find out what the source of that light was. She pulled her phone out again and started rapidly taking photos of the beacon.

She slipped it back in her purse and went back inside, only to bump directly into Bruce on his way out.

"Chloe," he said, and there was a note of guilt in his voice. "I'm so, so sorry to do this. Something came up, and I've got to go."

"Oh," Chloe said blankly, then, comprehending, "_oh!_ Oh, but the food..." she looked pityingly at the meal he'd had prepared for them. "I mean of course it's all right. It's just such a shame...but, of course you should go. That's fine."

He nodded, clearly feeling terrible about it. "I'll have Alfred drive you back. I'm afraid I've got to hail a cab. I don't have the time t - have I mentioned how sorry I am?"

Chloe laughed. "I understand. It's no big deal. One of the downfalls of running a company. Believe me, I understand."

"Do me a favor, though," he asked, "take the dessert with you, and in..." he checked his watch again, "about and hour, make sure you take a look outside."

Chloe frowned, confused by such odd instructions, but she agreed to them. He had already managed to walk her to the car in his hurry, and he had the door open for her. She was about to climb in when something stopped her. She glanced up into those dark eyes for a moment, and aside from guilt, she recognized a terrible burden. She felt her brow cinch slightly at the familiarity of the expression, one she had seen so often on men who were beaten down again and again by circumstance.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Bruce. I had a much better time than I was expecting, and before you ask, yes, I was expecting to have a bad time. It's been a while since I went out."

He looked mildly surprised by this revelation, but before she climbed in the car, he managed to stop her a second time, pulling her back around and planting a fire-igniting kiss on her lips. Chloe barely had time to react before he was releasing her and helping her into the car.

"I didn't want you to miss out on that part of the date, too," he said winking at her arrogantly as he backed away, heading in the opposite direction.

"And what makes you think you would have gotten that far?" she called after him.

To which he only glanced back at her, a knowing smile on his face.

Chloe shook her head, closing the car door. _"Men_," she grumbled.

"No, dear. _Bruce_," the driver amended her thought, glancing back at her amusedly.

Chloe laughed at this. "Maybe. What was your name again?"

"Alfred Pennyworth, Miss Sullivan. At your service. Shall I take you back to the Four Seasons?"

"Please. And call me Chloe."

"As you wish, Miss Chloe."

* * *

An hour later, long after Alfred had taken Chloe home, Chloe sat out on her balcony eating leftover creme brulee in her pajamas.

She had already cast off the cocktail dress and heels, giving her dress a sympathetic look of pity as she hung it back up, as if to say to it, "It's okay, I haven't been taken out for a proper evening in a while either. Maybe he'll give us a second chance later."

She was just beginning to wonder why Bruce had wanted her to look up at the sky right now - all she could see out of the ordinary was the bat signal - when a shooting star bolted across the sky.

She gasped in delight, immediately making a wish.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled to see a second.

And a third.

And still another one.

He'd taken her to the observatory for a meteor shower.


	7. Chapter 7

**I know; I know. I've been missing for at least a month now, and this story has been particularly neglected. I hope you'll forgive me, though, because in the first place, my tumultuous romantic life has caused - among other things - writer's block in the worst way. In the second place, I've been subconsciously avoiding this one because I was so intimidated by the prospect of writing the Joker. It was something I wanted to get just right because the Joker is truly iconic. I had mixed feelings about whether to go for the Nolan/Heath Ledger Joker or the cartoon/Mark Hamil Joker, and it was all just one giant mess in my mind. However, as I simultaneously slay the dragons in romantic life, I have also decided to tackle this beast-y of a chapter, and hopefully it will be followed by many more.**

**Thanks for the patience and encouragement,**

**BlueSuede**

-7-

Chloe shuddered. That laughter again. She had finally made it to the last wing of Arkham Asylum, the one she'd been putting off for ages. Why? Because everyday she heard the maniacal laughter that echoed from that corridor. Chloe had issues regarding the mentally unstable, that much was something she had embraced by now, but she'd mostly been able to keep her cool while doing her research at Arkham. But there was something about that laughter that made her want to hit the ground running.

Part of her was tempted to skip the entire wing altogether. Her research there had given her a profile on Batman that made him that much more fascinated by him, but at the end of the day, didn't really help her find him. So rather than face the bone-chilling cackling that came from that hall, she would rather have called it a day and started following her other leads.

But her meeting with Lucius Fox wasn't for a couple of days, and not for nothing was she Watchtower. She hadn't earned that position for closing a book too early.

No, she was going to question every person in that asylum that had so much as heard Batman's cape swish. There was always that possibility that one of them knew that key piece of information that would suddenly fit the puzzle together for her.

So, taking a deep breath she rounded the corner, smiling feebly at the guard sitting in a chair near the door.

"Mornin', Miss Sullivan," he greeted her from behind his newspaper.

"Morning, Tom," Chloe answered, her throat going dry as she heard the laughter. Slow, low, building.

It was like whoever it was knew she was coming.

Trying to get a grip on herself and not quite sure whether she had succeeded, she pressed the door open and entered the last unexplored hallway of Arkham Asylum.

There were only a few inmates here. She spotted a man with pale skin and a distant, pained expression on his face. He was seated under some sort of vent that appeared to be keeping the climate freezing cold in his cell, and he was staring into a musical snow globe, the figure of a woman ballerina circling slowly as soft music played, underscoring everything that happened in that hall.

Another man was lying on his side, his expression blank and vacant, drooling onto the pillow. His skin bore stretch marks as if he had once had unnaturally large muscles. Judging by the look of him, he had overdosed severely on drugs, probably some sort of muscle enhancing steroid, and it hadn't left his mind in very good shape, the only sounds he made were the occasional moans and grunts.

There was a strange looking man with an oversized head and very large front teeth, sitting on the floor of his cell and muttering a rhyme under his breath, one that Chloe recognized from _Alice in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll,

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly Like a tea-tray in the sky."

Amidst this music, moaning, and muttering, one thing stood out: the sound of a low, demonic chuckle, coming from the end of the hall.

Losing her nerve, Chloe started to turn around, thinking to get herself a cup of coffee to calm herself before re-attacking this, but a voice stopped her.

At last, the laughing man spoke.

"You know, Miss Sullivan, I must say, I'm hurt that you haven't been to see me already."

Chloe wanted to run away. That voice...it was mocking and amused and altogether too calm. She couldn't think why she expected it to be agitated, but something about that calm terrified her.

"Well now, don't keep me waiting. It's rude, you know. And really, I'm _so_ bored," he coaxed, and she took a slow, wary step toward the speaker's cell. Then she shook herself. Even if he was the most terrifying man on the face of the planet, he was locked safely behind a glass wall, and there was nothing he could do to her. Gathering up her courage, she walked more confidently.

She felt the eyes of the other three men follow her, even though none of them moved or otherwise acknowledged her presence. She made it to the front of the cell she'd been both consciously and subconsciously avoiding for all this time, and she caught her breath. Dark sunken in eyes, pale skin, matted, almost green-tinted hair, and...his face...it was...

He leaned closer to her, forearms resting on his knees, a twisted smile on his face, "You wanna know how I got these scars?"

Chloe's eyes widened ever so slightly. She felt an internal reflex urging her to turn and run the other way, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment. Chloe _never_ ignored her instincts, but they didn't normally tell her to leave a job unfinished. She supposed there was a first time for everything. She got a grip on herself and coolly replied, "You seem eager to tell me."

"Well, I used to know this girl, see, real pretty, smart woman. Blonde." Chloe narrowed her eyes. "I was in love with her, you know. But she never paid any attention to me. She was seeing somebody else. Big thug. Could've torn me limb from limb. Well eventually this girl did notice me and eventually I kissed her because that's what you do when you like a pretty girl." He leaned forward, the glint in his eyes indicating that he'd gotten to his favorite part of the story. "So her boyfriend finds out, right? And he and his buddies jump me one night, and they hold me down while he takes his knife out," he held up his hand as though he were clutching an invisible knife, "and says, 'Why so serious?'"

Chloe repressed a shudder.

"And he carves a smile into my face, saying I should be smiling since I kissed his girl. He made sure no girl ever wanted to kiss me again."

She closed her eyes. It was a vivid story, and hard not to believe, but she did know better, really. She'd listened to him for two full minutes and already she saw all the signs of a pathological liar. She had to wonder what had really happened to him.

"What's your name?" she asked eventually. "You already know mine."

He leaned back again, dropping his head to rest against the cement wall behind him, his expression unimpressed. "Now, now, Miss Sullivan, you know who I am."

"I know what they call you."

"And?" he pressed, his twisted grin starting to appear again.

"I want to know your real name."

"My name is what they call me."

She shook her head. "You were someone before you were dubbed the Clown Prince of Crime. Who?"

He shrugged. "Who were you?"

She blinked at the question. "What?"

"Who were you?" he repeated, lifting his head again. "Before I was the Clown Prince."

Her brow creased slightly. "I don't know what you mean."

At that he lost his casual appearance and leaned forward again, as if getting down to business. "You're sporting with my intelligence, Miss Sullivan. I believe the Scarecrow said it best. We have nothing to do but sit around all day and listen to everything else going on around here. You and I both know that you are not who you say you are."

Chloe kept her pokerface. "Oh?"

"That's all right, I like a good game of charades. What are you: butcher, baker, candle-stick maker?"

"Writer," she said simply.

"Lies, lies, lies. My goodness you must have had lousy parents. Didn't anyone ever tell you?" He leaned forward, a vindictive expression on his face, "Lying never pays."

Chloe took an involuntary step back.

* * *

Desperate to go home and calm her nerves, Chloe knocked politely on Dr. Quinzel's office door. "Dr - Harleen?" she called, the sound of a light tapping noise coming through the door to greet her ears.

"Come in," the doctor's voice rang out in a light, sing-song way.

Eyebrow up, Chloe pushed the door open and once again entered the good doctor's office.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was leaning lightly against the edge of her desk, playing with a paddle-ball.

"Hello," she said brightly. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" she asked.

Chloe choked back a snort of laughter. As per usual around Arkham asylum, it was pouring steady rain outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance at that exact moment. "Erm...sure." Then she spotted something: a single flower in a vase sitting on the doctor's desk. Chloe smiled. Could it be the doctor had an admirer? Judging by the playful, happy expression on the woman's face, it was easy to believe she was feeling lucky in love.

Eventually the woman set the paddle-ball down. "Sorry, I've been going through files all morning and I really couldn't take it anymore, so I was taking a break, and then I wanted to see if I could hit 200." She shrugged, smiling a wide, almost startling smile at Chloe. "Nice weekend?" she asked.

Chloe nodded. "Yours?"

"Mmmm...yeah." Yep. Definitely love-sick. "So who did you talk to today?" Harleen asked, moving to sit behind her desk again.

"The...patient in the east-wing. Room Seven. He wouldn't give me a name."

Harleen looked up, eyes bright. "Isn't he incredible?" she asked.

"Umm..." Chloe tried not to look shocked. Several adjectives had come to mind while speaking to the Joker. None of them had been 'incredible.' "He's...something."

"Such a tragic story, too," Harleen said, her face turning to one of utmost sympathy and pity. "The way his dad mutilated his face that way..." she trailed off, thoughtful.

Chloe lifted her brow in surprise, but Harleen didn't notice.

"He's exactly the kind of thing I was talking about when you asked about the Bat," Harleen continued, her voice growing cold. "Totally victimized by that thuggish brute. You should have seen him when he first came in. Beaten to a bloody pulp. And by a legal law-enforcer? Oh no. By a rogue vigilante in a cape." She shook her head, evidently disgusted.

Chloe wasn't sure what to say. She'd heard the stories about the Joker, and she'd done her research. It didn't seem possibly to her that a few bruises and gashes came even close to what that man deserved. Being locked up in _here_ was too good for him. She hesitated. "Right...well...I just wanted to mention this will be my last week here, and I wanted to thank you again for your generosity. You've been so hospitable, and you've done so much for me."

Harleen smiled, rising from the chair again. "Of course," she reached across the desk to shake Chloe's hand. "You've been a pleasure. You must send me a copy of your book when it's completed."

Chloe smiled as well, returning the handshake. "Absolutely. Here's hoping I can get it published," she sighed wistfully, then adding, "But if I do, you'll be the first to receive a copy."

"You're too kind. Be sure to stop by and see me at least once more before you leave for good."

"I will," Chloe grinned. The woman's wide, ear-to-ear smile was infectious.

When she got outside, she pushed up her umbrella, and was then startled to recognize Bruce Wayne's car at the end of the long drive, Alfred Pennyworth standing impeccably presentable beside the door, holding up an umbrella.

He greeted her pleasantly. "Good afternoon, Miss Chloe. Master Bruce instructed me to attempt to meet you here. He has a business meeting this afternoon, but he was hoping you would join him for lunch at home once it was over."

Chloe beamed, her heart fluttering slightly. "I would love that."


	8. Chapter 8

-8-

"Forgive me for asking, but you seem a bit upset. Is everything all right?"

Chloe sighed. "It's just...this work at Arkham. It's starting to get under my skin. I don't know. I shouldn't let it stress me out like this, but today was especially bad. I guess things have been starting to take their toll on me."

"This may be none of my business, but why do it? Is this book of yours worth it?"

The corner of her lips twitched. "I never take on a project unless it's absolutely worth it."

"But these people...they obviously frighten you. You were very shaken this afternoon."

She nodded slowly, looking at the raindrops hitting the window pane.

"So what could be worth putting yourself through all of that?"

"I know it doesn't seem like a book is that high of a goal...but it's not just about the book. There are other...factors. There's this huge grand scheme that I can't really explain, but it's worth putting myself through a little anxiety. I work for some people, really good people, and they asked me to take on this project, and these are people...when they say 'Jump'..."

"You pull out a trampoline. But I'm afraid I don't follow. I still don't understand what makes it so important."

Chloe chuckled softly. "I wish I could get into it." She looked up at him. "And I really mean that. You're really easy to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Alfred set down his cup of tea and smiled at her. "It's been mentioned a time or two."

Chloe set down her cup of tea as well and looked at her watch. She sighed heavily. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Miss Chloe?"

"He's not coming is he?"

Alfred sighed as well. "Probably not, Miss Chloe."

"I'm surprised he hasn't called. I guess..." she chewed her lip, "I mean, I don't mind that he got hung up...it happens" -And who knew it better than her?- "But I thought he would have at least expected him to call to let us know." A sudden flash of insecurity hit her. She looked imploringly at Alfred. "He's not the sort of guy that would do this on purpose is he? I mean, if he doesn't like me, there's no reason to invite me over and then stand me up."

Alfred leaned forward and rested a hand on Chloe's shoulder. "Miss Chloe, I've known Master Bruce for many years, and I can safely say that he thinks much more highly of you than that. I promise if he hasn't called, then there's a very good reason." He hesitated for a moment, before adding, "Although I can't promise he'll be able to give you an explanation." Chloe frowned. "I'm sure he'll apologize the moment he gets the chance. For now, if you don't mind, I don't get a lot of company, so would you care to join me for dinner?"

Chloe smiled warmly. "That sounds nice, Alfred. Thank you."

"After that I'll bring you home."

"Thank you, Alfred," she said again.

* * *

When Chloe went home that night, after a brief but excellent dinner with Alfred, she still wasn't feeling quite herself. She supposed that at the end of the day, it was just the de ja vu that being stood up had sent her through. It wasn't a good feeling, age aside, and she resented Bruce for calling up those old feelings.

But she trusted Alfred easily enough, and he insisted that whatever happened, Bruce had wanted to be there. Her forehead creased slightly as she remembered Alfred mentioning that Bruce might not be able to give her an explanation. That sounded like something she would say, not something other people told her.

The furrow in her brow deepened as she toweled off her hair, heading to bed. It was still raining outside, she noticed.

She shivered, unsettled for a reason she couldn't name. She tried not to allow her mind to flash back to her morning at Arkham. As thunder rumbled outside she suddenly thought she heard the sound of that low, dead laughter and she jumped, screaming quietly, looking around the room.

Realizing she was as alone as usual, she clutched her heart and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Well, at least there were no witnesses to her incredible cowardliness. The boys would never let her live it down if they knew how jumpy she was getting.

She smiled uneasily at the thought, throwing back the covers on her bed and trying to force herself to relax.

Chloe tossed and turned the whole night, muttering in her sleep, vague nightmares that she wouldn't remember come morning coursed through her mind and when her alarm went off in the morning, sunlight streaming brightly through her window, she shot up in bed screaming. Trying to catch her breath she took in her surroundings, realizing that she'd been dreaming. There was nothing to be afraid of. She flopped back in bed, still panting a bit, but her muscles relaxing. She let out a long, slow breath as she looked at the beautiful day outside, so different from the incessant rain they'd been seeing lately. Disappointed with herself, she rolled onto her side, intending to snuggle into the covers a bit more and relax, since she didn't intend to go into Arkham today.

And she saw it. Her heart raced and she could hear her own pulse throbbing in her ears as she slowly reached for the object. There, resting on the pillow next to her, was a playing card. A Joker. She dropped it as if it had burnt her, scrambling out of bed so quickly she could have put Bart to shame.

She looked around the room, snatching up her robe and heading straight into the hallway. She needed to have someone search her room to make sure there was no one else in there. In front of her door was the daily paper, which she would have stepped right over in her moment of panic, except that the headline caught her eye:

JOKER'S NIGHT OUT

She snatched up the paper and skimmed the article quickly.

Apparently last night the Joker had broken out of Arkham. But he was back in his cell now, the article confirmed. Batman had captured him before the night was up.

Chloe swallowed tightly, looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one had seen her. She knew the smart thing to do. She should call Oliver and Company and have them search her room and double up her security. She should turn the playing card into the police and submit herself to questioning about why the Joker might be targeting her. That was the smart thing to do all right, but she wasn't going to do it.

Every single member of the league would insist on packing up her things for her and shipping her home. They didn't like her being in danger, which was understandable, but she had a feeling she was close to something. She suspected she was going to get some important answers from her meeting with Lucius Fox coming up, and the fact that the Joker had left her a calling card...it had to mean something.

She'd struck a nerve somewhere. She wanted to know what it was.

She hurried back into her room and changed as quickly as possible, not totally comfortable in the room at the moment, but as soon as she could be she was outside the hotel, hailing a cab and offering him an ample bribe to get her to Arkham as fast as possible.

* * *

The sound of confident heels clicked across the linoleum floors as Chloe made her way down the various corridors of Arkham Asylum. She barely took a moment for her usual greeting the guard outside the Joker's wing as she brushed past him, barging through the doors and making her way to the end of the hall, ignoring the sounds coming from the other inmates.

She stopped in front of the Joker's cell, and didn't flinch when she saw him lying in bed, his face bruised and a bit swollen, his arm in a sling. She held up the card and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You called?" she asked.

There was that manic smile, the one that made her stomach roll. He clucked his tongue in a disapproving manner. "Ooh...naughty girl. Shouldn't you be handing that to the police?" His dark grin broadened. "Or maybe you don't like cops anymore than every other inmate in here. Tell me, Miss Sullivan, do you think you'll end up on the other side of this glass one day? I bet you do. We're all just a little bit crazy on the inside."

Chloe stepped closer to the cell, ignoring his words. "What do you want, Joker?" she demanded.

"I wonder what kind of maniac you'd be," he continued, not paying her any mind. "The killing kind, perhaps? The laughing kind, the muttering kind, or the foaming at the mouth kind."

"Why did you break into my hotel room? What were you looking for? Were you trying to send me a message?"

"You know what I think? I think you'd be the kind they have to put in a straight jacket. You'd sit in a corner, rocking back and forth and flinching at loud noises."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she practically shouted at him, annoyed with his game.

"TO LET THE MADNESS OUT!" he yelled back, matching her volume, his voice gleeful. Chloe faltered, moving back a step. "I want to let it all out. To let every man and woman find his or her inner lunatic. You see, Miss Sullivan," he sat up in bed and started walking toward her, "I'm a man of vision. I like to imagine a world where no one has to hide what they really are." Chloe swallowed tightly as he continued advancing toward her; she forced herself to hold her ground. There was bullet proof glass between them after all. "I imagine a world where killers can be killers without having to be afraid of being thrown behind bars, where psychopaths can be free to indulge in their obsessions, where confused teenagers can express themselves through gang violence without being judged by their piers. I imagine a world that doesn't need Batman because it's already killed him off. I truly am a visionary, Miss Sullivan, you see." He pressed his hands against the glass, his breath fogging it as he continued to speak. "I envision a world where the sane people are behind bars...where they belong."

* * *

"Dr. Quinzel," Chloe pounded on the door to the doctor's office. "Dr. Quinzel! Harleen! I need to discuss something with you!" she shouted, beating against the door futilely.

"She left early this morning," a voice echoed down the hall. Chloe stilled. She turned and headed around the corner where Dr. Crane was leaning calmly against the wall of his cell. He looked up at her, pleased that she'd come to him immediately.

"Where is she?"

He lifted a shoulder and dropped it. "No idea. She was frantic about something, though. As are you," he added with obvious pleasure. "Do tell me, Miss Sullivan, what has you so frightened this fine morning? Having nightmares again?"

Chloe dragged her hand over her face. Her mind raced, trying desperately to fit the pieces together. There was something she was missing and she couldn't figure out what it was. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Goodbye, Dr. Crane," she said firmly, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

* * *

"What do you mean you need to change hotels?" Oliver asked her over the phone as she walked down the long drive outside Arkham, grateful for the unprecedented sunny weather. "I mean, of course I'll take care of it. It's no problem, but is everything all right? Chloe, what aren't you telling me?"

"I can't talk about it right now, Ollie. Sorry. But I think I'm close to something. I'm not sure. I'll let you know as soon as I get it figured out, but I just need this favor. I've got to go."

"Chloe, wait-"

But she was already hanging up.

Forty-five minutes later she was in the police station, walking straight up to Officer Montoya's desk and blatantly asking, "Where does the Bat Signal come from?"

Montoya looked up from her paperwork, startled. "What?"

"The Bat Signal. It has a source. Where does it come from? Who controls it?"

"I'm afraid that's-"

"Don't give me the 'classified' BS, Montoya. I have a lot of respect for your intelligence, and I'd appreciate the same courtesy. The cops, the news, everyone in this town has some sort of public vendetta against Batman even though he continually saves their lives and throws their criminals behind bars. The Bat Signal is proof that somebody is aware of that, that someone is willing to call him in for help. Where does it come from?"

Montoya's eyes darted around warily. Finally, she muttered. "Come with me."

Satisfied that she was finally going to get some answers, Chloe followed Montoya into a back room, just outside of an interrogation cell. Montoya rounded on her.

"Look, Sullivan, you can't go shouting that kind of stuff around the station. You said it yourself. There's a public vendetta against the Bat. Half the force is divided on the fact, and it definitely doesn't help that half the force is also corrupt," she finished in a harsh whisper. "Trouble is we don't know which is which. So if you start shouting that stuff around there, people are gonna start asking questions. They're gonna start putting pieces together, and anyone who's got a bone to pick with the Bat might start to realize what's been in front of them for a while."

"Which is?" Chloe pressed.

Montoya's eyes darted around, making sure they were really alone. "I think the Commissioner has some sort of relationship with the Bat...an understanding. Batman helps Gordon out, and Gordon doesn't put too many men on the Bat's case...so he can't get caught. Gordon sleeps safer at night knowing the Bat's out there, and quite frankly, I do, too. So do me a favor, and don't rock my boat, got it?"

Chloe nodded. "Get me in to see Commissioner Gordon."

Montoya met her eyes fiercely, searching for something. Apparently she passed the test, because after a moment, the woman clarified, "Off the record?"

"Of course."

And suddenly she was being brought into Gordon's private office. There was no one there at the moment, but Montoya told her to wait there. "He'll be around in a few minutes. He's on his lunch." She paused on her way out the door and glance over her shoulder at Chloe. "Don't touch anything."

As soon as the door shut Chloe scoffed. "Don't touch anything?" she repeated. "God, she doesn't know me at all."

Immediately she was pulling her lock pick out of her purse and opening the Commissioner's filing cabinet, rifling through it in search of anything relating to either Batman or the Joker. At first she didn't find anything, but then the file, "Napier, Jack," caught her attention. Attached to the name was a list of names, as if it was uncertain what the real identity was. "Jack [?], Jack Napier, Red Hood, Joker." She pulled out the file and started rifling through it. It was a jumbled mess. There were various reports, barely complete in almost every case, they raised more questions than they answered. But one caught her attention immediately. It was a psychological profile from Arkham Asylum, written by Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

_Although the subject has a reputation for violent tendencies, this predilection is mostly due to childhood abuse and victimization, resulting from a physically violent father and neglectful mother. His personality is somewhat childish in regard to a love for joke-telling and laughter, but essentially is harmless in this respect. Crime history is without question the work of a perfectly capable, highly intelligent, sane man, constructed to_ look like_ the work of a sick mind in order to pursue his vendetta against alleged vigilante known as "Batman_." _It is also possible that the subject is faking insanity in order to avoid the death penalty, but more importantly, to gain sympathy and attention, which he obviously craves due to his obviously sub-par upbringing._

Chloe reread everything as if to double check that she had the right Joker. Had Dr. Quinzel gone off her nut? How could a trained psychologist be so taken in by an obviously demented sociopath? She flipped the report over to the back and saw that Commissioner Gordon, too, had been mystified by this analysis. He had written Harleen's name and credentials on the back with a large question mark beside them, as if he suspected some research should be put into the matter.

She heard voices outside the door and quickly shoved the file back inside and shut the drawer, rushing over to the chair in front of Gordon's desk and seating herself, hoping it would look like she'd been there the whole time.

"Thank you, Montoya, that's very interesting," Gordon's voice carried through to her as he cracked open the door, before entering fully. Chloe rose to shake his hand.

"Commissioner Gordon," she greeted. "Thanks for taking some time to see me. I wanted to talk to someone I could trust."

Gordon raised an eyebrow at her, returning the handshake before walking around his desk to sit down. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Well, Miss Sullivan, I'm all ears."

Taking a deep breath, Chloe pulled the Joker out of her pocket and handed it to him, sitting down.

Gordon studied the card stoically, then he lowered his glasses slightly to peer at her over them. "Explain."

"I've been interviewing subjects at Arkham asylum-including the Joker. I found that in my hotel room this morning. And I understand that last night the Joker broke out."

Gordon rubbed his brow as though trying to erase the wrinkles that had formed there over the years. "I see. You think because of these interviews you were doing, he's targeted you?"

"I'm not sure."

"What exactly would you like me to do here, Miss Sullivan? As I'm sure you're aware, the Joker is back under lock and key. Offering you protection at the moment would be superfluous and, quite frankly, a waste of my insufficient funds. If he were still at large, that would be an entirely-"

"I don't want protection," Chloe assured him.

His brow furrowed. "Well then, what?"

"I just thought it was something the police should know. In case last night-God forbid-ever has a repeat, it would be good information for us both to have...and-" she caught his eye "anyone _else_ you think might be interested."

Gordon didn't reply, but, like Montoya, searched her eyes for a few minutes as if testing her. Then he nodded. "Thank you, Miss Sullivan. It was wise of you to come here with this, and I will make sure that the information is handled appropriately. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a detective's chops to bust."

He escorted her out the door politely, but she jumped in surprise when he shouted from his doorway in a very angry voice, "BULLOCK! Get in here!"

The overweight Detective with the doughnut fixation jumped guiltily at his desk and cringed. As Chloe walked out, she noticed the satisfied smirk on Officer Montoya's face as she kept her head down. Chloe rapped her knuckled gently on Montoya's desk and mouthed a Thank You when the woman looked up. Montoya nodded, then returned to her work.

Chloe left the police station and checked her phone for messages. The one she was looking for, from Oliver, gave her the address of her new hotel, where Bart and Clark had already moved her things. But there was also a second one from Bruce, profusely apologizing for the other day, and distinctly lacking in-you guessed it-an explanation.

She bit her lip longingly, wanting badly to call him back, but knowing she couldn't. Her meeting with Lucius Fox was tomorrow, and she had some research to do.


	9. Chapter 9

"Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan." Lucius Fox was a tall, graying black man with laugh lines around his eyes that implied the possibility of a sense of humor, and worry lines across his forehead that suggested he didn't have much opportunity to exercise it. He shook her hand politely, smiling at her. "I hope you've been enjoying the warm spell we're having."

Chloe returned the smile. "I have, thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fox. Thank you for making time to see me."

"Of course. Please, have a seat." he gestured the chair in front of his desk and Chloe took it. He sat down as well. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I'm interested in your weapons R&D department." Chloe said a quick mental prayer that the risk she was about to take would work. Her research on Lucius Fox had lead her to believe that the straightforward approach was best. "More specifically, Mr. Fox, I'm interested in your special projects - the ones _not_ funded by the government."

Fox raised an eyebrow and Chloe surged ahead.

"I've done my research, and I understand there is a highly secured sector of your weapons department that receives anonymous funding annually, but has no listed output. Can you tell me anything about that?"

Fox's brow furrowed slightly, and Chloe watched him carefully for any giveaways. He had none. "Miss Sullivan, exactly _what_ is your interest in this?"

Chloe had anticipated this question. "I have reason to believe that Wayne Enterprises' technology has been leaked or imitated." Deep breath. Time for her big move. She opened the portfolio she was carrying and started laying out photographs, blueprints, computer generated designs, everything she'd been ale to compile with Victor's help since coming to Gotham. "They were mostly incomplete, since they hadn't had much other than occasional news-captures to base their images on. Still, they had relatively comprehensive images of the "Batarang" as Bart had dubbed it, Batman's tank-like car, his hang-glider, the material his suit was constructed from, as well as several other smaller gadgets, including a grappling hook and a gas mask.

Fox studied the charts for several minutes in silence. Then he leaned back in his chair and studied Chloe instead, apparently trying to decide what to make of her. "As interesting as these designs are, it doesn't actually answer the question. What is your interest in this?"

"Can you confirm that this technology is in fact Wayne Enterprises?"

"Miss Sullivan," he ignored her question. "Why are you here?"

"Research."

"On Batman?"

She hesitated, the nodded.

"Well, Miss Sullivan, you will be interested to know that I, too, have done my research. You're not a journalist. At least, you haven't been employed by any news company for several years. The publishing company you're supposedly writing a book for exists all right, but it seems to have appeared out of thin air, which leads me to believe that it's an elaborate cover for something."

He waited, and Chloe resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. He didn't sound angry or accusing, simply curious, perhaps a little wary. As a matter of fact, she found herself suddenly tempted to tell him the whole story. She refrained, though, as several details began to sink in on her.

"You know who it is!" she exclaimed so suddenly she startled even herself.

He recovered well. "Who what is?"

"Batman," she said, still shocked at her own daring. "You know who he is. Wow," she said, almost to herself now. "All this time I thought it was someone stealing technology. You guys are _supplying_ him!" Her eyes were wide. "I don't get it. What's in it for Wayne Enterprises?"

Lucius Fox actually chuckled. "I think this meeting is at an end. I'm still not sure what your angle is, but you certainly have an active imagination, Miss Sullivan." He leaned over to buzz his secretary on the intercom.

Chloe, meanwhile, said nothing more, but watched him intently. He was protecting someone. It was painfully obvious.

"Yes, Mr. Fox?" his secretary asked over the intercom.

"Please send someone to show Miss Sullivan out."

"Yes, Mr. Fox."

Chloe was about to object when another voice did it for her. "That won't be necessary, Lucius. I'll see Miss Sullivan out. I believe I owe her lunch, actually."

Chloe cringed and Fox raised his eyebrows. "Mr. Wayne," he greeted. "Naturally."

She felt both pairs of eyes on her and knew there was nothing for it. She plastered what she hoped would be a sincere, innocent smile on her face and stood from her chair, turning to face him and blushing furiously.

"Hello, Bruce," she greeted him.

He looked completely at ease, eyebrow quirked at her as if he'd caught her with her hand in the cookie jar.

She packed up her things and headed for the door, Bruce following after her.

"So," he said, once they were in the elevator down the hall, "Corporate spy or government intelligence?"

She turned to gape at him, insulted. "Excuse me?"

"Well, originally, I was leaning towards government agent, but then I found out you were on Oliver Queen's payroll, which, I have to admit, stung a little."

Chloe's temper flared. "My God, are you accusing me of corporate espionage?" She gasped. "Is that why you stood me up the other day? Unbelievable."

"Slow down," he said, surprised by the accusation. "I didn't intentionally stand you up. Business - "

"Business came up that you couldn't ignore," she deadpanned sarcastically. "Yeah, yeah." She suddenly sympathized with Lois for breaking up with Oliver all those years ago.

He moved in front of her so that she had to look at him. "If there had been any way for me to be there, I would have been. And I'm not accusing you of anything, but you have to admit, this does look really suspicious. I like you, Chloe, but I need an explanation." As he finished, the elevator doors opened onto the ground floor.

Chloe met his gaze defiantly. "You first," she challenged before pushing past him and out into the lobby.

He chased after her, setting a pace at her side to match her. "Fine. But I'm still taking you out to lunch," he asserted arrogantly.

"Hoping to ply me with wine until I spill all of my secrets?" she smirked, buttoning up her rain coat and tying the sash.

"Hoping to ply you with wine until you find the idea of making out with me irresistibly appealing, actually," he wiggled his eyebrows.

She bit her lip, grinning. "Mmm, well, why didn't you just say so?" She moved in front of him, effectively stopping him in his tracks. She stared blatantly at his mouth, as if thinking about kissing him, her own lips parted slightly. Bruce immediately slipped a hand over her hip and leaned down to kiss her, but she turned away at the last second, sliding out of his hold. She didn't reveal the effort it took. Her body was stubbornly protesting the coy move, but that didn't stop her snarky comment, "Careful, you wouldn't want to make yourself vulnerable to a spy." His hand grabbed her waist and spun her back around, pulling her flush against him. She caught her breath in surprise, heart thudding at the contact and proximity.

"What if I don't have a problem with sleeping with the enemy?" he teased, his lips a fraction from hers, but she didn't miss the fact that he'd just labeled her 'the enemy.' She pressed her hand lightly against his chest and pushed him back a step.

"Then you're a fool," she said quietly. It helped that they were surrounded by passersby on the busy street and sidewalk. As strong as the desire was to kiss him, she'd never been one for public displays.

She turned on her heel and continued down the sidewalk, and Bruce, unsurprisingly, continued after her.

"You're really going to make me work for this aren't you?" he asked, entertained.

"Yep."

He grabbed her hand this time to pull her back to him. "Let me take you to lunch."

"Well, I'm not sure. It depends, really."

"On?"

"Will you be there?" she teased.

"Naturally," he replied, smirking.

"Well in that case, no," she said loftily, pulling her hand out of his and once again turning to continue walking.

"Chloe, I think it's a bit absurd for you to be so offended. Remember how this looks from my perspective. I've got every right to be suspicious, especially since you won't explain yourself to me. You've obviously been hiding something since I met you." He winced at his own statement, but Chloe didn't see, her back still turned to him as she reached the corner and whistled loudly for a cab.

"I suppose you're going to claim that I somehow orchestrated meeting you outside of Arkham even though I had no possible way of knowing you'd be there, and, left to my own devices, I wouldn't have even gotten your name, let alone given you my phone number."

His brow furrowed at her excellent argument. She had a point. A cab pulled up in front of her and she opened the door to climb in. "Goodbye, Bruce," she said, her tone holding a hint of haughtiness. "Oh, please say hello to Alfred for me, won't you?" she added sincerely before shutting the car door and giving the driver the name of her new hotel. She couldn't resist glancing back as they pulled away, and she caught sight of the confounded expression on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her taxi disappear around the corner.

Served him right, she decided airily. She knew her behavior must seem strange, but she thought espionage was an awfully big leap.

In his defense, though, he probably had to be very careful. She knew Oliver was cautious of letting women in, considering most of them _were_ after something one way or another.

She heaved a disgruntled sigh. Well, maybe she'd cut him a break later on then.

Once back to her hotel, she made herself some coffee and slipped off her shoes, mulling over the new information that had been brought to light. She settled on the large, comfy sofa and tucked her legs under her.

It was an interesting plot twist, she had to admit. It had never occurred to her that Wayne Enterprises was essentially _sponsoring _Batman.

It had an unsavory Luthercorp taint to it at first. Once Superman had made his debut, Lex had eagerly flung himself into multiple projects attempting to render Superman obsolete. He feared anything he couldn't control, and so, naturally he wanted to persuade the public that Superman could easily go rogue, and obviously a privately owned and controlled alternative was the solution.

Of course, Batman didn't exactly fit into this mold. Wayne Enterprises didn't exactly advertise having any affiliation with Batman like Luthorcorp would have. He obviously wasn't up for sale. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't exactly being marketed for the public. Quite the contrary, he was considered a public enemy.

So it all came down to the same question: What did Wayne Enterprises stand to gain? Were they really funding 'the Batman project' (so to speak) as a strictly not-for-profit- scheme? And if so, how many people were in on it?

The whole thing seemed impossibly absurd. Even if it were true, there would be no way to get it past Bruce. He would _have _to be aware of it. Was he another Oliver, funding his own personal one-man Justice League? She wanted to dismiss the idea, but couldn't. Oliver had an obvious vested interest in the JL. Bruce had no motive, at least not that she was aware of. If he were found out, legally he would be done for. And yet, the facts couldn't be ignored.

Lucius Fox clearly knew who Batman was. Did Bruce Wayne know as well?


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm sorry, Oliver, but there's just no way Fox is going to tell me who it is," Chloe was saying into the phone the next morning, pacing idly around her room. She paused to listen for a moment, then continued again. "What do you want me to do? Get a nice old man drunk so he'll tell me whatever I want? Ooh," she added, voice dripping sarcasm, "or maybe I should sleep with him. _That_ wouldn't cross any ethical boundaries at all." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be so dramatic. I'm just saying, if he knows, then find a way to get the information from him."

"Oliver, would you be happy if you found out someone was trying to force me to give them information on you or one of the team?"

"Of course not. I'd wring their neck, but-"

"Well don't you see it's the same thing? He's taken it upon himself to protect this man, and I'm going to respect that." There was a knock on her door.

"You're not there to be respectful. You're there to-"

"Excuse me, Oliver, there's someone at the door. I have to go," she said, hanging up before he could protest. She tossed the phone on the bed and headed over to open the door, checking the peephole first out of cautionary habit. It was a bellhop from the desk downstairs.

"I've got a delivery for Miss Chloe Sullivan," he said, reading off the small card attached to an excessively large bouquet of roses.

Chloe just stared blankly first at the flowers, then at gave her a funny look. "You are Miss Sullivan, aren't you?" he asked her.

Chloe started. "Oh! Yes, I am. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting these." She took them off his hands.

He chuckled. "If you don't mind me saying so, ma'am, I think that's usually the point when someone sends you flowers."

She laughed, setting the flowers down inside and grabbing a couple of bucks off her desk to tip him with. "I guess you're right," she said as she handed him the cash. "Thanks."

"Have a good day!" he smiled before taking off down the hallway. Once he was gone, Chloe turned back inside to look at the flowers. They were gorgeous. Insanely over the top, but gorgeous. She picked up the card.

_To Chloe._

_From Bruce._

She quirked an eyebrow at the spartan content. Looking at the ceiling as if it sympathized with her, she reached for her phone and dialed his number.

"Wayne speaking." "Three dozen roses, Bruce? That's subtle. For future reference, I prefer tulips."

"Future reference? Does that mean you intend on giving me future opportunities to screw up and send you flowers?"

She bit her lip, glad he couldn't see her grinning. "I'm not sure yet."

"I can work with that."

She laughed. "Can you?"

"Definitely."

"Well just so you know, it would have helped your case if you had tried putting an apology somewhere in there amongst the foliage. I believe that's traditionally how it works."

"Somehow, I thought 'To the Spy Who Loved Me' might send the wrong message."

"And I'm still waiting to hear an apology," she reminded, not entirely amused. "You're really bad at this, you know that?"

"All right: I apologize for suspecting you of corporate espionage."

"And?"

"And government spying."

"And?"

"And standing you up for lunch."

"And?"

"...was there something else?"

She chuckled. "Nope. Just testing you."

"That's a relief. I don't like not knowing when I've screwed up."

"Uh huh. So just out of curiosity, what makes you suddenly so sure that I'm not a spy?" she asked.

"I talked to Oliver Queen."

She almost dropped the phone. "What?" Oliver hadn't mentioned that, and she'd been on the phone with him all morning.

"Well, I think I mentioned the other day that it stung when I found out you were on Queen's payroll. Part of that's because Oliver Queen and I have a bit of history. We went to boarding school together and even though we're not exactly best friends, we have an understanding. Neither of us has ever sunk to questionable tactics before, so I'm choosing to believe what he tells me now."

"Which is?" Chloe asked, sitting down to stop herself from getting dizzy with confusion.

"That while you are one of his employees, you're cashing in several years of built-up vacation time to pursue a book you've been wanting to write. I guess only time will tell if I'm a really good guy for taking you both at your word or just a huge idiot, but I'm willing to take a risk."

Chloe felt a slow blush creep into her cheeks at the statement.

"So...you wanna tell me what kind of book leads you into research at Arkham Asylum and an interview with my company's business manager about weapons development?"

Chloe bit her lip. She wondered how much detail Lucius Fox had gone into about their meeting. It had the potential to be extremely embarrassing. "It started out as criminal psychology, but I've been drifting away from that a bit."

"Into?"

"Into criminal history in Gotham. The effect of 'vigilante' efforts on quality of life."

"Batman," he said, as if summing it all up for her.

"Yes and no. I'm obviously interested in Batman, but he's not my sole focus." She winced, that was a pretty big lie. She wondered how long it would take for all of this to catch up with her. It was only a matter of time.

_Enjoy the ride for now_, she told herself ominously.

"Well," Bruce continued. "I was hoping that you would let me take you out tonight."

"Oh?" she asked lightly, her smile returning.

"I was picturing something fancy."

"Really? Do tell."

"I have a party to attend tonight."

"Mmhmm."

"Well, technically, I have a party to host tonight. Wayne Foundation Fundraiser."

"Interesting."

He let out a chuckle. "You really _are_ going to make me work for this, aren't you?" he reiterated his sentiments from yesterday.

"Why not? You do seem to enjoy a challenge."

She could almost here the responding smirk in his voice. "That I do. So, Miss Sullivan, who makes me work so hard, would you mind accompanying me tonight?"

She sighed. "Do I have to wear a fancy dress?"

"Theoretically."

"And painful shoes."

"Most likely, but if you wanted to set a trend for running shoes, I wouldn't stop you."

"I'm not sure you're worth the torture."

"What if I promise to keep you constantly supplied with alcohol so you can't feel the pain in your toes?"

"It would help."

"And if I promised to whisper naughty things in your ear when we're supposed to be respectable?"

"In front of boring, old business men?"

"As many as you want."

"_Okay_, I'll go," she conceded, as if it had ever really been in question.

"Fantastic. Alfred will pick you up at 9:30."

She suddenly realized something. "Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"How did you know I was staying at a different hotel?"

"I'm magic."

"You're crazy."

"That too. Goodbye, Chloe."

"Goodbye, Bruce."

They hung up on each other and Chloe flopped backwards on her bed, trying not to squeal like a teenage girl going on a date with her crush.

It didn't stop the tiny squeak that slipped out, though.

"Good evening, Miss Chloe. I take it Master Bruce's flowers worked?" Alfred greeted her that evening, holding open the door of the car for her.

Chloe laughed a little. "That they did."

"Glad to hear it."

Chloe beamed as she slid into the car and he closed the door for her.

"Master Bruce said to apologize for being unable to pick you up himself," he told her once he was seated in the driver's seat. "One of the unfortunate downsides to being the host, I'm afraid."

"That's all right, Alfred. Thank you, though."

"And I was also instructed to tell you that you look very lovely this evening, but I would have said that anyway," he smiled at her in the rear view mirror, and Chloe laughed.

"He's laying it on pretty thick, isn't he?"

"Only the best, Miss."

When they arrived at Wayne Manor, Alfred informed Chloe that she would find Bruce upstairs, waiting to 'make an entrance.'

Chloe had raised her eyebrow at the phrase but shrugged it off and headed for the grand center staircase to find her so-called Date. She didn't have to search long to find him, already knowing from a brief tour of the manor that Alfred had given her where to find the upstairs entrance to the ballroom. He was waiting for her, looking exceptionally sharp in a tuxedo, and she had the sudden whimsical idea that he reminded her of James Bond.

He grinned when he saw her. "Well this is a bust," he said, putting his hands on her hips and looking at her.

"What is?" she asked.

"I won't be able to do any socializing tonight with you looking like that. You need to be kissed in that dress," he said, leaning down to capture her lips seductively. She shivered beneath the midnight blue silk.

Chloe groaned. He was good. She already felt a pool of lava forming in the base of her stomach. She bit his lip gently, pulling away.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the host is expected to talk to his guests, isn't he?" she teased.

"There you go again with that traditionalist nonsense," he winked. "If you ask me, they wouldn't even notice if I didn't show up."

"Mmm, well maybe we can compromise and leave early," she grinned, turning his shoulders to make him face the door. "But for now, charity beckons," she reminded.

He sighed. "If I must."

"Come on, Mr. Wayne. Prove that you can show a girl a good time at least once."

He grinned as he pulled the door open for her, then offered her his arm, and she threaded her hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the sudden knots in her stomach on making such a public spectacle. "Anything for you," he whispered in her ear, and tingles spread across her skin at the sensation of his breath on her.

By the time they walked out into view, all eyes were already on them, anticipating Bruce's usual dramatic entrance. Chloe clutched his elbow a little more tightly, lifting the hem of her dress slightly with her other hand to descend the stairs. She could feel her face growing hot from the attention and turned her eyelashes down shyly.

Meanwhile, Bruce, so accustomed to limelight, waved genially, smiled broadly, and made himself all-around like-able.

Alfred greeted them each at the bottom of the stairs with drinks, and Bruce took one, lifting it to propose a toast and commend the evening's chosen philanthropy. As Chloe watched him, she found herself growing painfully aware of the fact that she did not look like she belonged on Bruce Wayne's arm. If she'd dared look at any of the sea of faces, she was sure she'd fine people sending her scrutinizing looks, as if wondering where Bruce's usual fare was for the evening.

She forced herself to brush it off and lift her chin a little higher. It didn't matter what kind of reputation he had. He had asked her to be there with him. And just because a man went through a wild phase didn't mean he wasn't interested in something a little more serious. So far Bruce didn't compare remotely to the hype that had preceded him.

His toast ended and she took a sip from her champagne flute but frowned as she swallowed. She missed the ever-so-slight widening of Bruce's eyes as he did the same. She looked down at her drink and took another sip while Bruce and Alfred exchanged a discreet glance of helplessness with each other. Instead of champagne, it seemed that she was drinking sparkling apple cider. How bizarre. She glanced around at the nearby faces, and none of them seemed to have noticed anything about their drinks. It was just her. Should she say something or pretend not to notice? Nothing quite like this had ever happened to her before.

Before she could make a decision, Bruce slipped the glass out of her hand and placed it on a passing tray along with his own. "You can get tipsy later," he teased. "For now, dance with me?"

She beamed, momentarily distracted from the dilemma, as she placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be swept toward the center of the ballroom.

The pleasure of the dance didn't last long, however, and she was soon working on her fourth martini as she forced herself to smile at yet another trophy wife making an obvious pass at Bruce right in front of her husband.

She wondered how much of a scene it would make if she ate the olive off the stirrer in her drink and stabbed one of the woman's inflatable breasts with it.

Eventually the couple left them and she felt Bruce's hand pinch her side lightly, his arm draped around her waist. "Holding up okay?" he joked.

"How do you stand it?" she wondered, eyes trailing vindictively in the direction of the hussy that had just left.

He pulled her attention back to him. "Some of them are worth it. The Morgans certainly seemed to like you. When you weren't looking, Mrs. Morgan mouthed the words 'Marry her,' at me," he smirked.

"Huh. I liked them, too. She seems smart," she teased.

"Mmhmm. And Mortimer was impressed with you, which was nice for me since he's convinced I'll never live up to my father, and usually takes the opinion that my choice of dates symbolizes that fact."

She laughed. "Interesting."

"Not to mention I particularly enjoyed seeing Michael's face turn thirteen different shades of purple when you wouldn't give him a second glance."

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

"You had to have noticed."

"That he was coming on to me? Yes. He wasn't exactly subtle."

"He has a very one-sided competition with me about stealing one another's dates."

She smirked, turning to face him more fully, her hands finding the lapels of his suit coat. "One-sided, huh? I assume that means you always win," she teased, rising up on her toes slightly so he could kiss her. He did so, his hands sliding down her bare back to rest just above the curve of her ass, and she found herself badly wanting him to take it further, to plunge his tongue into her mouth and wrap her thighs around his waist and...

_Ugh. Stupid public place. Stupid appropriate behavior._

She pulled back from his kiss, meeting his eyes and sucking in a breath at the sight of how dark they were. He brushed another kiss against her lips and then one on her neck just below her ear before whispering, "I think I've sufficiently played my part for the night."

She raised an eyebrow. "Won't it look bad if you don't stick around?"

He shook his head. "Please. I've already lasted at least an hour and a half longer than usual. And I've been resisting the temptations of this dress all night." His hands gripped her hips slightly and pulled her a little closer, pressing her against him, and she could feel him growing hard.

She closed her eyes and let out a quiet moan. "_Well_..." she trailed off, not sure if either of them should really be considering it.

His thumbs starting massaging circles over her lower back and she broke.

"Oh God, get me out of here," she begged.

He smirked, swooping down to steal another lingering kiss. "Gladly."


	11. Chapter 11

**Please be warned that there is a dramatic change in rating, and the first 2/3 to 3/4 of this chapter is sexually explicit.**

**Also, I wanted to do a little hat tip to Blue Eyes Green, who gave me the idea about the scars Bruce would have. This chapter probably would have taken me a lot longer to write without you. :)**

**BlueSuede  
**

-11-

Backed against the wall of the bedroom with Bruce doing wonderful things to her neck and shoulder, Chloe had to laugh, breathy though the sound was. "You know, I have this cousin - "

"Oh, God I hope you're not about to compare me to a relative right now," Bruce said, lifting his head to look at her in amusement. "Because that would be extremely awkward."

"No," she laughed as well, "definitely not."

"Thank goodness," he breathed in relief before untying the halter behind her neck and letting the strings slide past her collar bone, his body pressed against hers the only thing now holding the dress in place.

"But she has this rule of thumb about dating men..." she trailed off into a groan as he pushed part of the dress out of the way to expose her breast and latch his mouth onto it. "And she says you should always wait until at least the third date for _this_."

Bruce sucked on her nipple, eliciting an erotic whining noise from her. Then he brought his lips back up to her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip firmly before encouraging her to continue, mostly out of curiosity. "And you're thinking about this because?"

She gave another breathy chuckle. "I was just thinking that I'm not sure this counts."

"Oh?" he asked, taking a moment to strip out of his tuxedo jacket, bow tie, and shirt in a rather haphazard manner.

"Mmhmm..." she said, breathing slightly uneven as she held her dress up with one hand, watching him hungrily. "The first one I interrupted for a phone call and then you walked out on by the time I was finished - "

"A stupid, horrible mistake on my part," he grinned as he pulled her hand away, pinning it to the wall beside her head and allowing the dress to pool at her feet. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"And then the second one would have been very nice if you had actually been there," she accused mockingly.

"Another grave error," he conceded, placing a hot, sucking kiss against her pulse point as his hand cupped her heat.

Chloe groaned, head tipping back against the wall, her thighs beginning to quiver they ached so strongly. "And tonight was nice, but - "

"What was wrong with tonight?" he frowned, pressing his hand against her a little more firmly.

"Nothing," she gasped breathlessly, closing her eyes and rolling her hips forward eagerly. "I was just going to say we spent more time schmoozing other people than we did talking to each other." He nodded in concession. "An unfortunate downside of parties." He began tracing painfully light circles over her clit through her rapidly dampening panties. She gripped his shoulders, a frustrated noise escaping her lips.

"Come to think of it," she insisted, "I've spent more time getting to know your butler than I have you."

"I forbid you to talk about my butler right now," he said severely, eyes dancing with humor. He kissed her heatedly on the mouth before continuing. "But tonight I'm all yours. I promise," he said, kissing her again, this time sliding his tongue into her mouth at the exact moment he pushed her panties to the side and dipped a finger inside of her.

She cried out into his mouth, her hands moving from his shoulders to thread into his hair. Bruce slowly dragged his mouth away from hers, parted lips and hot breath making a trail down her chin, throat and chest, pausing at her navel where his tongue momentarily teased her. Chloe's head lolled to the side, mouth open as she nearly forgot how to breathe. She felt his finger slip out of her core before he hooked his fingers in her panties and tugged them down her legs, letting her step out of them and tossing them aside. Course hands trailed up her calves to the backs of her knees before urging her forward slightly, parting her thighs further. She knew it was coming as she pressed her palms against the wall behind her for some semblance of balance, but that didn't stop the scream she emitted when his lips closed over her swollen clit, sucking on it and sending pleasure rolling over her.

"Oh, God!" she cried in a strangled voice as her back arched away from the wall, fingers curling as if they could somehow find purchase on the smooth surface. She gasped desperately for air as his tongue flicked firmly over her mound and his finger reenter her, shortly joined by a second, pumping in and out of her to stretch her. Her body shook as he continued, and she could feel her orgasm building, her entire system going into shock, when he pulled away abruptly, capturing her lips and swallowing her whimper as he allowed her to taste herself on his tongue. Her shaking hands grasped his hair tightly, holding him in place as she moaned into his mouth, body trembling in need. He broke the kiss in spite of her determination though, and she watched, eyes darkening, as he brought his fingers up to his lips and licked them one at a time before kissing her again, dominating her tongue with his.

One of her hands fell from his hair and trailed over his chest, delightedly molding against the firm muscles of his pecs and abs before reaching his pants and rubbing against his cock, pressuring him to continue. He growled into her throat and she smirked vindictively, pressing her hand harder against him before he shoved it aside so he could remove his pants, freeing his throbbing erection. She slid her hand over it slowly, rubbing her thumb over the tip before gliding back down and cupping his balls. Bruce pressed his forehead against hers as she continued her exploration, his breathing heavy and labored. She began picking up pace and he groaned in pleasure, pressing into her hand in need when she slowed again. She brought her lips to his ear, biting his lobe gently before commanding him, "Take me."

Not needing to be told twice, he hoisted her up in his arms and nearly threw her on the bed, climbing over her and shoving his knee between her thighs to spread them apart. His hands hooked beneath her knees, forcing her still further apart, the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance. Then, in one smooth motion he entered into her, the fit tight and causing her to cry out as he filled her deeply. Her body arched in encouragement, enticing him further into her before he began thrusting in and out of her. She cried out his name and he slammed into her harder.

She gripped her breasts, massaging her hardened nipples between her fingers as her head pressed back into the pillow, eyes shut tightly in ecstasy as her cries mounted. A wave of lust shot through him as he watched her, and he reached for her clit, rubbing it with his thumb, wanting her to come for him. He'd known her for such a short time, but he'd seen how tightly wound she was, how controlling and calculated. Watching as she fell apart, as she gave into pleasure and need, it was the sexiest damned thing he'd ever seen.

Feeling his finger on her clit was almost more than she could handle, and Chloe's cries sharpened as she lifted her hips to meet him desperately. Within moments she felt herself electrocuted with pleasure, Bruce continuing to ride her all the way through the orgasm, his body pounding into her and his finger incessantly flicking across her clit until she was writhing, practically in tears, unable to control herself. She felt as he began to lose control himself, finally giving in and thrusting into her one final time before succumbing. She groaned as she felt him come undone, his seed spilling into her, silently thanking God in the back of her mind for birth control pills because he felt so, so good.

He rolled over and she followed, straddling him between her legs, smirking wantonly as his hands reached up to grip her thighs.

"You're incredible," he chuckled, eyes still dark as he watched her lie down on top of him, sliding down his body and rubbing against his dick, which began to twitch in expectation.

"And you'd better not be done," she teased. "You said you're all mine tonight, remember?"

"Not by a longshot,' he grinned.

"That's what I like to hear," she said as she licked his stomach seductively, then sucked on his nipple for a moment.

Bruce sucked in a breath when she trailed lower again, his cock beginning to harden for her. She took him in her hand and took his tip into her mouth, swiveling her tongue over him, and Bruce groaned. "Oh, fuck..._Chloe._"

She smirked, removing her lips momentarily. "Oh, I hope so," she teased before swallowing as much of him as she could. He bucked into her mouth and she pressed her hands against his stomach, a somewhat futile attempt to keep him still as she bobbed over his cock, feeling his eyes on her the entire time.

He was nearly at the end of his rope when he suddenly wrenched her back up to him, kissing her hard before grabbing her hips and pulling her down onto him, moaning as she surrounded him for the second time, hot and wet and still tight. She rose up and dropped back onto him, her clit grinding against his pelvis, and her mouth opened in a silent cry. She continued until her thighs burned and she could feel herself getting so close but just not quite there, again gripping her breasts to soothe them. She rode him desperately now, his fingers digging painfully into his thighs as he helped her until finally she crashed again and moments later he did as well, unable to wait any longer, her name flowing over and over from his lips. He clutched her to him when she collapsed on top of him, slowly pulling out of her, a whimper escaping her lips when he did.

"Oh my _God_," she breathed, eyes closing as she enjoyed the lovely feel of his hard body beneath her. It wasn't long before both parties drifted to sleep.

* * *

Chloe woke up again around three in the morning for no reason in particular, a light smile still curving her lips gently. She was pleasantly aware of the strong arm slung about her waist, and the muscular body molded to hers.

She shifted slightly, tucking her body further into him. She didn't know if Bruce was the end all be all for her, but regardless, it was nice to wake up next to someone instead of all alone for once. The warm body beneath hers was comforting; it made her feel safe, secure. She opened her eyes, and realized the room was fairly bright from the full moon outside. It had probably moved out from behind a cloud, and that was what had woken her, she thought vaguely, tracing a hand softly up his chest, his skin and hers taking on a silvery appearance in the moonlight. She couldn't help appreciating his beautifully sculpted body.

Her hand paused in its path momentarily when she noticed a small scar on his left pec, vaguely reminiscent of one she'd seen on Victor's left bicep, the result of a thug with a knife. She frowned, sitting up a tiny bit. He had another scar like it on his side. And one that reminded her of the bullet graze Oliver had once gotten.

Her frown deepened. He had a lot of scars, now that she really looked at him.

And suddenly, like a tidal wave held back until the last second, it all came crashing down on her.

The scars, the mysterious disappearances and absences, the vague excuses, the Wayne Enterprises technology...for the love of God, she was constantly comparing him to _Oliver_!

She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle a noise of shock and regretted the sudden movement as he shifted in his sleep in response.

_Holy shit._

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He'd grown up here. He had access to the weapons and the money. He had a vested interest in Gotham's well-being.

She rolled her eyes as she suddenly remembered the sparkling cider. She'd obviously gotten his drink that evening by mistake. Did her _ever_ drink?

Her mind reeled as she tried to decide what to do with her newfound enlightenment. Wake him? Call him out on it then and there? Wait until morning...possibly once they were both fully clothed again?

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shiiiiiiiit..._

This had just achieved all new levels of "not appropriate." What was she going to do? Was it better to approach him as Bruce Wayne or to wait and corner him as his alter-ego and then lay her cards on the table?

_Oh my God, what will he think of me? This looks _horrible!_ Oh my...craaaaaap._ She caught herself just in time before she started beating her forehead against his chest.

She felt him stirring beneath her then, probably sensing how wide awake she was, and she couldn't stop her pulse from picking up.

He peered at her through hooded eyes, running a hand through her hair. "You okay?" he mumbled sleepily.

She felt her face flush, wondering wildly what the answer was to that question. Attempting to gather up her wits and deciding the conversation would definitely be better with clothesinvolved, she nodded, leaning back down. "Yeah, sorry."

Misinterpreting her discomfort, he continued to stroke her hair gently. "If it...makes you feel any better...I haven't exactly," he swallowed, "I mean, I haven't 'spent the night' with anyone in a while, either." Which was true. As a matter of fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed a girl to stick around this long, let alone after sex. He didn't say that out loud though. Somehow it sounded worse than it actually was.

Face flushed as she realized what he meant, Chloe buried her face further into his side. "I'm good. Sorry I woke you," she murmured, placing a soft kiss against his skin. She attempted to even out her breathing and eventually he assumed she'd gone back to sleep. He himself drifted off again shortly, but, although unlike Macbeth in most respects, Bruce had successfully murdered sleep for Chloe. She lay in his arms, eyes open wide, long into the night, trying to figure out how to handle her newfound information.

What was she going to do?


	12. Chapter 12

-12-

Chloe swirled her coffee in her cup, her body humming with that strange nervous feeling that comes after a night of trying to sleep through anxiety.

"I'm so sorry I have to take off like this," Bruce was saying as he tied his tie in front of his dresser mirror. He glanced over his shoulder at her, "Because believe me, you look infinitely more enticing than my board of directors."

Chloe blushed right down to her toes, squirming back into his pillows and beneath the sheet a little bit. "Then stay," she pleaded lightly, trying to force herself to focus on him instead of on the idea of "I know something you know, but you don't know I know you know." It was starting to make her head hurt and even the cup of coffee perfection she was holding wasn't doing much to help.

He sighed. "I want to," he conceded, walking over to her and leaning across the bed to place a peck on her lips. "But I can't," he pulled away, turning back to the mirror to finish dealing with the tie. "You're free to stay for breakfast, of course. And..." he paused, glancing at her reflection watching him in the mirror, "I'll call you tonight?" he asked, and Chloe almost smiled at the slightly hopeful note in his tone. As if he had any reason to doubt she'd want to hear from him again.

She nodded. "That sounds like a reasonable compromise. One of these days, though, Bruce, I'm going to manage to keep you in one place with me," she teased. "And then what will you do?"

"Throw myself at your mercy." He winked. Then he pulled on his sport coat and held out his arms for her, as if asking for approval.

"It's terrible," she said stubbornly, but with a twinkle in her eyes. "Take the whole thing off."

He chuckled. "All right. I have to go. But I will call tonight. I promise."

She swallowed tightly, almost wanting to finish the real promise for him. _I'll call tonight, unless something comes up. Because I have greater responsibilities than a personal life._

_...because I'm Batman._

Keeping her mouth shut, she nodded mutely, before draining the coffee cup desperately. He came back for another kiss, lingering this time before leaving her.

The door clicked shut and Chloe released an audible sigh. She shook her head at the empty coffee cup. "I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?" she asked it dryly.

She was a coward, plain and simple. She hadn't had the nerve to broach the subject. Really, what was she supposed to say. "Hey, now that we've slept together, I have a business proposition for you?" It didn't exactly sound so great out loud. Not to mention it meant owning up to lying about investigating his company. In theory, he couldn't hold it against her, seeing as his life was about telling the same kind of stories...but she couldn't help feeling guilty anyway.

There was nothing for it. She was just chicken.

Eventually she got out of bed, however. She decided the best thing to do would be to head home, review all of her accumulated data to be absolutely certain she was right, and then...as much as she hated to do it, call Oliver and tell him what she'd found out.

She'd done her job, she reminded herself as she slipped on her dress from last night, wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a change of clothes. All she'd been sent to Gotham to do was figure out who Batman was, and she'd done that with months to spare.

Okay, so technically it was also part of her job to proposition him regarding the Justice League, but maybe now that she was so personally involved, it would be better coming from someone else. It might be the cowardice talking, but it might also just be good business sense.

She felt her whole face grow hot at the prospect of explaining to Oliver that she'd "gotten a little too close" to the mission. Groaning at the mere thought, she headed downstairs to beg a ride off Alfred, who greeted her pleasantly with an offer of breakfast. She declined, not really having a stomach for it, and silently appreciated his courteousness in driving her home.

Chloe, Alfred, and Bruce, in the morning's unusual circumstances, had all neglected to do one thing that all three of them did every day: read the morning paper.

When Alfred dropped Chloe off at her building, the same time that somewhere across town Bruce was walking into a board meeting likely to take all morning and some of the afternoon, both men were unaware of the big headline on the front page:

_Clown Prince's Partner in Crime?_

A picture of an empty cell at Arkham Asylum with the glass wall blown in accompanied the article, detailing how someone had broken the Joker out. From the outside.

Blissfully unaware of this information, Alfred turned the radio in the car to a 40s jazz station, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed along, noting that the weather was once again cheerful and sunny, making that several days of sunshine in a row: something entirely unheard of for Gotham. He thought momentarily of Miss Sullivan, of how pleased he was that Bruce was finally making time for himself, allowing himself a little happiness.

Bruce took a seat at the head of the table in the Board Room at Wayne Enterprises, already slipped into his persona of bored billionaire playboy who doesn't care about the business aspect of his inheritance. He drummed his fingers idly, all the while keeping a hawk's eye on every word, every expression that passed over each member's face. His mind flitted briefly to Chloe, wondering what she was doing at that moment, whether she was thinking of him.

The woman herself greeted her doorman cheerfully, her face flushing at the thought that the same man must have seen her leave the night before wearing the same clothes. Not, of course, that he said anything. He greeted her pleasantly, tipping his hat as she walked past. She made her way through the lobby to the elevator, where an operator pressed the button for her floor, faint music coming over the speakers in the background while she mulled over what exactly she was going to say to Oliver when she called him up. Maybe she'd take a hot bubble bath first...

A long one.

She reached her floor and searched her clutch, momentarily worried that she'd left her card key at Bruce's but then finding it at the last second. She slipped it into the lock a little awkwardly at first, drawing up a red light when it was rejected. The second time she operated it correctly, the green light announcing her accepted entrance into the room, and she turned the handle, pushing it open as she slipped the key back into her clutch. She snapped the purse shut and looked up, realizing there was a tapping noise coming from inside the room. The moment she looked up, she froze mid-step, the blood draining from her face.

"Someone was out after curfew. Tisk. Tisk." The sing song voice sounded familiar, but Chloe didn't pause to try to figure out where she recognized it from. The sight of the woman dressed in a red and black Harlequin costume, her face painted to match, sitting on Chloe's windowsill, playing with a paddleball, instantly ignited Chloe's flight instincts. Instantly turning to run, she was cut off by the door being shut in her face, revealing the last man in the world she ever wanted to see.

His bruises had faded and his cuts had healed, either way they would have been camouflaged by the face paint, but nothing could hide that mutilated grin. His arm was still in a sling, but he was no longer dressed in the straight jacket or hospital scrubs she was accustomed to seeing him in. In its place was a dingy purple jacket and a green tie.

She swallowed anxiously, her heart pounding in her chest as he shook his finger at her. "Ah, ah, ah," he said, moving between her and the door. She backed up a step. "Please, Miss Sullivan, do have a seat. So nice of you to dress up for us, but you know that wasn't necessary. We're but humble company." His voice was delighted in a way it had never been behind bars. She could hear it. He was winning and he knew it. She only wished she knew what the stakes were. She didn't move to sit, but stood still, trying to summon up her courage and formulate a plan.

When she didn't move, the Joker raised an eyebrow, and the woman behind her raised her voice, the sound grating. "Pop a squat, Sugar. You ain't goin' anywhere."

Chloe swallowed again, in spite of her now dry throat and turned to head for the arm chair in the room, trying not to take her eyes off the pair.

"Thank you, Harley," the Joker said, smiling at his female partner.

"Harley?" Chloe questioned before she could stop herself, realization suddenly sinking in. She looked at the woman at the window. "Oh my God. Dr. Quinzel? _Harleen?_"

The woman shook her head, standing up and throwing a devoted arm about the Joker's shoulders. "That's _Harley Quinn."_

With which announcement, she sent her foot flying for Chloe's head, knocking her unconscious.

* * *

For more on Harley Quinn, visit my Livejournal page:

http : / the-bluesuede . livejournal .com / 22199 . html


	13. Chapter 13

-13-

Chloe woke with a groan, her head throbbing. On instinct she moved to cradle her head in her palm, but something impeded the movement. Her eyes flew open and she looked down in panic. She was wearing a straight jacket.

"Ohmygod," she exclaimed breathlessly, scrambling with her legs until she bumped against a wall. She looked around. Where was she? It looked like the inside of some sort of fun house, but everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. The place hadn't seen light or life in what must have been years.

"Yeah," Harley's voice reached her ears, and her head whipped to a corner where Harley was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with a deck of cards, fully costumed, "sorry 'bout the straight jacket," she said cheerfully. "We woulda used rope er handcuffs, but we had the jacket on hand, see, since Mr. J was wearing it before. And he said it would be a great joke to have a sane person in a straightjacket. What a laugh, right?" she said, chuckling a little at the very idea.

Chloe grimaced. "I'm laughing on the inside." The sound of snoring reached her ears and she glanced to another corner where she realized two hyenas were snoozing, chained to a pillar. Her eyes widened and she backed up against the wall a little bit more, drawing her knees into her chest, her eyes furtively latched on them.

Harley followed her line of sight. "Oh," she cooed, "aren't they absolutely _precious_? Mr. J gave them to me as a gift for breakin' him out. Don't worry. They already _love _me. Won't hurt anyone unless I tell 'em, too." She paused thoughtfully. "At least...so far, anyway. I'm still training them."

Chloe nearly fainted again. Instead she stared at Harley, trying to figure out what had happened to make the perfectly respectable psychiatrist snap. "Harleen..." she said slowly, carefully.

"Harley," she corrected cheerfully, continuing to play with the cards and not looking up.

Chloe closed her eyes and sighed. "_Harley_. What does the Joker want with me?"

Harley shrugged. "Who knows?" she said in a sing-song voice, hinting that _she _knew.

Chloe opened one eye. "He didn't tell you?"

She looked up, and Chloe tried to see if there was anything left of the doctor in her eyes. Harley just grinned, rocking back a little gleefully. "Well...he _said_ it was a surprise..." she drawled, but then she moved onto her knees so quickly it nearly through _Chloe_ off balance. She looked poised for girl talk. "But it's the funniest thing, really. See, it's like a triple charade. Or...double...no, triple. I don't know. It kind of confuses me. But anyway, see, Mr. J says that we've got you so that you'll tell us who the Bat is, but the Bat is gonna think we have you as bait, so then by the time he gets here-'cause Mr. J says he _always_ comes-we'll know who he is and it'll all be one big party!" she finished gleefully, as if the very thing were the most amusing story she'd ever told.

Chloe faked a half-hearted smile, deciding it was best to go along with the poor woman's delusions. "That's hilarious," she said, "but why would I know who Batman is?" she asked, trying to figure out how much they knew about her.

She shrugged again, her behavior almost childlike. "Beats me. But Mr. J says you know, so I guess you know." She looked at her curiously. "So is it anyone I know?" she asked, as if she were asking whether she knew the boy Chloe had a crush on.

"I haven't the slightest idea who it is," Chloe said simply, hoping it was convincing.

Harley stretched out on her stomach and propped her chin on her hands, her feet crossing at the ankles. "Boy, he's gonna be disappointed to hear that. Better start figuring out who you _think_ it is," she suggested mildly.

Chloe swallowed. "When do you expect him back?"

"Not for a while. Maybe not 'til tomorrow, actually. He said something about dropping in on an old friend."

Chloe wondered who that poor, unfortunate soul might be.

One of the hyenas began stirring in its sleep, rousing. Harley looked at them thoughtfully. "Hmmm...Puddin' said not to feed them, but I don't think one little treat would hurt, do you?" she asked, looking to Chloe with her brows raised.

Chloe shook her head vehemently. The less hungry those things were, the happier she'd be. "Definitely not."

As Harley set about getting a few raw steaks for the hyenas, Chloe began scanning the room, trying to think up a plan and coming up short.

* * *

Bruce drummed his fingers impatiently. She still wasn't picking up her phone. Perhaps she'd been more irritated with him than he realized that morning. He sighed. It wasn't his fault they'd called a damned emergency meeting. It had actually been rather important. Lucius Fox had discovered one of the branches was disposing of pollutants improperly. He was going to be immersed in the problem for weeks, and he cringed at what might happen if the papers found out. He swore quietly when Chloe's voicemail picked up for the second time.

Well, he reassured himself as he waited for the tone, it was quite possible that she really wasn't able to pick up at the moment. She'd probably call him back in an hour and they could do drinks instead of the dinner he'd been hoping for.

"...and I'll get back to you right away. And Lois, if this is you, please don't leave me another voicemail complaining about Clark. They fill up my message box and no one else can communicate with me."

And then, as if to illustrate this very thing, instead of the tone he was expecting, he received a recorded voice explaining that Chloe's mailbox was full.

"Unbelievable," he sighed, trying to decide if it would be too high school to send her a text message.

* * *

Lois checked her phone for the fourteenth time in the last hour. Driven to the brink by the blatant lack of missed calls, she raised her voice, "CLARK!"

Clark looked up from his desk hopefully. "Are you speaking to me again?"

Lois glared at him. "For the moment. But only to ask if you've heard from Chloe today. She hasn't responded to any of my calls, and I've left her, like, a gazillion messages."

Clark frowned. "No, I haven't talked to her in a couple of days. I'm sure she'll get back to you tomorrow," he said reassuringly, although the thought it the back of his mind that Chloe _always_ answered her phone, usually on the first ring, nagged at him insistently.

Lois shot him a dirty look. "She may postpone returning _your_ calls until another day, but my baby cuz always gets back to _me_ right away, at least with a text message." She looked at her phone again. "Ooh, I wondered if she's out with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Loaded again..."

Clark raised an eyebrow at her. "What?" he deadpanned.

Lois crossed her arms smugly. "Uh uh. I'm not dishing on her. Besides, I'm still ticked with you for disappearing in the middle of our coffee not-date," she said, looking away from him stubbornly.

* * *

"Hey, you hear anything from 'licious lately?" Bart asked, working on his fifth can of Pringles while Victor and AC duked it out on the X-box.

Oliver glanced up from his desk. "Not in a couple of days, why?"

He shrugged. "Just curious. I miss her liciousness."

Oliver smirked. "Uh huh."

"I should visit her," he said thoughtfully. "We could get Mexicana together." He grinned at the idea, whizzing over to the pantry for another bag of chips.

"_Bart_," Oliver grumbled. "You're eating me out of house and home.

Bart lifted a shoulder and dropped it, unimpressed. "Yeah, but with you, that'll take, like _years_. Anyone else I'd have already eaten out of house and home in, like, a month."

"Speaking of surplus cash," Victor, said leaning back on the couch smugly as AC slumped in defeat, groaning his humiliation. "I heard our favorite blonde - and before either of you says anything - " he interrupted himself, glaring meaningfully at Oliver and AC, "I mean _Chloe_ - went on a date the other night with someone who's definitely more prince than pauper."

Bart's entire body snapped to attention, focusing on Victor. "What?" he demanded.

Victor shrugged. "It was all over the magazine stand where I got my coffee this morning. She was Bruce Wayne's arm candy for some big function last night."

_"What?"_ Bart demanded, jumping to his feet without noticing.

Oliver shot Victor a stern look. "I doubt Chloe would appreciate being referred to as 'arm candy,'" he chastised mildly.

"Yeah, well, those magazines said a lot worst. Not exactly her biggest fan. Just cause she's not famous, if you ask me. Didn't even bother to find out her name. Apparently they liked the dress she wore, though."

All three men stared at him.

"What?" he asked defensively. "Chloe was on the cover of a magazine. Of course I was going to read what it had to say about her." "Pick up any fashion tips while you were flipping through, _Victoria_?" AC goaded.

"Back up," Bart said, still fixated on the key point. "Mamacita went on a _date_?"

AC quirked a brow at him. "She's single. It's allowed."

"Shouldn't we...I dunno...get to screen him or something, first?" Oliver rolled his eyes. "It's Bruce Wayne. Trust me. He doesn't exactly have any secrets left. She could do a lot worse, though," he added condescendingly. "Wayne's not a bad guy. Decent businessman anyway."

"Businessman?" Bart demanded. "What's business about romancing my mamacita? Just because he knows how to make a buck doesn't mean he's a good guy," he insisted.

Oliver chuckled. "Relax, Bart. I went to school with the guy, too. He's really not that terrible. I mean...no worse than me, anyway." This time all heads turned to stare at Oliver. Within seconds the other three men were on their feet.

"Oh, hell no."

"This shit ain't gonna fly."

"I got dibs," Bart said, vanishing, presumably to head for Gotham. In reality, though, he got distracted by the growling in his stomach and stopped for a burrito. Or two.

Oliver stared at the remaining men, who were getting their coats. "What?" he asked, honestly confused.

* * *

"Commisioner, I tried to get a hold of the Sullivan woman like you asked, but she's not picking up her phone, and I already left her a couple of voicemails. Should we send someone over to check out her place?" Montoya asked, sticking her head in the Commissioner's office.

Commissioner Gordon looked up from the papers on his desk. He nodded. "I'll go. And you'll come with me." He rose from his desk, heading for the coat rack by his door and grabbing his trench coat and hat.

Before he could even get it on, Detective Bullock was bursting past Montoya into the office.

"Commissioner Gordon, that Arkham security guard who tipped us off last time the Joker got out was found dead in his apartment ten minutes ago."

Commissioner Gordon looked at Bullock, his stomach clenching. "The Joker?"

Bullock nodded gravely. "His face was all twisted into this freakish grin. Not pretty." "Nerve gas," Gordon muttered.

One thing was certain, as long as the Joker was loose, nobody in this department would be laughing any time soon.

"Commissioner? Sir?" Montoya urged him into action. "Shouldn't we get going?"

He nodded. "Right behind you Montoya. Get your squad car. You'll follow me there." She nodded and disappeared.

"Bullock," he said to the remaining man. "You get back to Arkham and see what you can find on Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She's been missing since the Joker broke loose, and he may have taken her hostage."

"Yes, sir!" he said eagerly, also vanishing.

Gordon looked over at his desk, where the playing card Chloe Sullivan had given him at their previous meeting was still sitting. He should have told Batman about it the moment she brought it in, but he'd figured as long as the Joker was locked away there was no need. Now he was regretting that decision. If Batman had known, he probably would have headed straight to the woman's aid the moment the Joker got out again. Now time was of the essence.

He prayed that she was at her apartment when they got there and that maybe she wouldn't pay for his mistake. If not...well, night had almost fallen. The bat signal would be easy to see when he got back to the station.

He only hoped it wasn't necessary.


	14. Chapter 14

-14-

9:30 PM Day 1

Gordon blew on his hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to warm them before glancing around him again. The nights were getting colder.

He glanced up at the sky again. The light was clearly visible. He sometimes wondered if Batman kept him waiting on purpose or if he honestly had a good reason for taking so long.

Probably both, he decided shrewdly.

* * *

9:35 PM Day 1

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, entering the cave as formally and unimpressed as if he had just entered the study. "There's a call for you."

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, forcing the tension he hadn't realized he was building until the interruption to roll off his shoulders. Talk about the worst night of his life. Not only had he not heard back from Chloe, leading him to believe she was either angry with him again-and this time he really wasn't sure why-or something was wrong, in which case, she simply hadn't wanted to talk to him. Then, when he'd gone to have something for dinner, he'd picked up the morning paper for the first time that day and discovered that the Joker had broken loose again. He wondered if the stress would ever go away. Without glancing up at Alfred, he waved a dismissive hand. "Tell whoever it is that I'll call back tomorrow afternoon. I'm...indisposed."

He expected Alfred to leave then, but he simply cleared his throat. Bruce looked up. Alfred raised a meaningful eyebrow. "It's not _that_ kind of call, sir."

* * *

1:30 AM Day 2

Part of Chloe wished she could just fall asleep. The events of the last...however long it had been, had left her feeling drained and weary. The constant anxiety and suspense of not knowing when the Joker would show up or how he planned to extract information from her was definitely taking a toll as well.

She grimaced in Harley's diraction. The woman-who apparently had energy to spare-did a one-armed cartwheel into a handstand, which she held perfectly with no sign of coming down any time soon.

"Hey, Harleen...I mean, Harley, what time is it?"

Harley sprang down, landing on her feet easily. She looked at Chloe with her eyes lit up, "I don't know. What time _is_ it?" she asked expectantly.

Chloe stared at her blankly. Then she raised an eyebrow. "There's no punchline. I'm just disoriented from being passed out so long. What time is it?"

Obviously disappointed, but nothing daunted, Harley did a couple of backhandsprings over to the other corner of the room where she fished through a purse and pulled out a phone. "1:34," she answered.

Focusing on anything other than the fact that she'd now been hostage for over twelve hours, Chloe turned her attention back to Harley. "I had no idea you were so...athletic," she said pointedly as Harley did several round-offs, obviously trying to stave off boredom.

Harley paused with her feet in the air in another flawless hand-stand and looked at Chloe. "Hmmm? Oh, yeah," she came down from the handstand and slid into straddled splits, propping her chin on her elbows, the better to converse. "Well, when I was a kid, I used to want to be an Olympic gymnast, but my parents said I needed to grow up and get serious. So I ended up following a more..._practical_ route," she made a face as though the word tasted bad. "But I always kept in shape. Good stress reliever, and anyway, it's fantastic for your figure." She brought her legs together and rolled onto her back to look at Chloe upside down. "You know?"

Chloe nodded, eyeing Harley's freed movement enviously. She'd been sitting on the floor in more or less the same position for hours now, and she could feel the blood in her legs getting sluggish. Plus her arm itched and the straightjacket made that virtually impossible to deal with. She pushed the complaints away and decided conversation was the best distraction, and anyway, maybe she could talk some sense into Harley. "So..." she said, "you and-" "Mr. J?" Harley said dreamily, and Chloe could almost see cartooned hearts swiveling around her head. She resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

"Yeah," she said slowly, trying to sound something other than disgusted. "Lucky girl," she forced. "How did that...um..._happen_, anyway?"

Harley sighed. "Well, you know how it is being a career woman," she said. "You don't meet a lot of decent men, especially ones who aren't intimidated by you. Gets kinda lonely. Puddin' was the first guy I've met in a long time who knew how to make me laugh. I felt like I hadn't laughed since I was a little girl."

"Huh," was all Chloe trusted herself to say. Then, cautiously, "And...his..." she searched for the right word, "_activities_ don't bother you?"

"Psht, nah," Harley said, rolling back on her stomach. "It's all kind of exciting, you know? Just like in the movies. Bonnie and Clyde, you know? The dangerous hero and his getaway-gal."

Chloe bit back a serious retort at the liberal use of the word 'hero' just in time. She figured the longer she stayed in his good graces, the better her situation would be. "But Harley," she said seriously, something resembling a plan formulating in the very back of her head, "we're _friends_, right?"

Harley's entire being seemed to light up at the word 'friends.' She nodded energetically.

"Well doesn't it bother you that the Joker's probably going to kill me?" she implored.

Harley stared at her, nonplussed. At first Chloe was afraid that she'd gone so far over the edge that she was going to say, "What's your point?" but instead, to Chloe's minimal relief, she said, "Why would he do that?"

"He thinks I know who Batman is. What do you think he'll do when I can't tell him?"

Harley was very quiet as she registered this news.

Chloe pressed her, "And even if I _did_ know, and I _did_ tell him, what do you think he'll do with me then? He can't exactly keep me around, can he?" _Come on, Harleen. You may have flipped your lid, but you're not a killer. Not yet, anyway._

Harley looked conflicted, but then she shook her head, as if trying to settle things back into their proper places...or, improper, as it were. "I don't want to talk about it," she said at length.

Then, inspiration dawned. "That's fine," Chloe heaved a dramatic, largely pathetic sigh. "It's just such a shame...I mean, if only this had all happened a few weeks ago."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I just wouldn't have minded dying as much before I met-" She made a show of changing her mind, shaking her head sadly. "Well, never mind. There's no use thinking about it now."

"Thinking about what?" Harley asked with undisguised eagerness.

Chloe sighed again, trying to look as lovelorn as possible. "Oh, it's just that I met someone..." she trailed off. It helped, she supposed, that it wasn't a lie.

"You did?" Harley asked, eyes as round as saucers.

Chloe nodded.

Harley melted. "What's he like?"

Chloe grinned. "Oh, you know: tall, dark, handsome. _Knows how to make me laugh._"

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Like...you can't stop smiling when he's around?"

"Exactly."

* * *

8:00 AM Day 2

Bart slowed to a normal pace as he reached Chloe's floor in the hotel, noting that there were voices coming from the direction of her hallway.

Bag of breakfast burritos in hand, he turned the corner, anticipating an easy morning of hanging out with Chloe and grilling her about her new love interest. ...all in good fun, of course.

All such thoughts vanished from his mind at the sight of Officer Montoya standing outside Chloe's room parked outside Chloe's room, the door wide-open, caution tape blocking the entrance, while more police searched the room.

The take-out bag fell to the floor. Montoya looked up at the sound and immediately recognized Bart. A look of relief spread across her face at the sight of him, and she opened her mouth to say something, but he never gave her the chance.

"What happened?" he demanded immediately. "Where is she? Is she all right?" "Calm down," Montoya said, pointedly blocking Bart's attempted entrance to what had been dubbed a crime scene. "What's your name again?"

"Bart Allen. Where's Chloe?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss anything unless it's with her next of kin. Do you know who we can contact? We retrieved a cell phone that included a number listed as her father's, but whoever it is seems to have disconnected the line."

Bart swallowed. "Chloe's dad checked out years ago. The only family she's in contact with is her Uncle and her cousin. Her cousin's the one she'd want you to call, though," Bart told her, figuring that was what Chloe would want.

Montoya nodded in relief. "Listen, I need you to come down to the station with me; you're the only person who knows anything about her whereabouts the last few days. Apparently she's a very private person," she said in a tone that hinted at how suspicious she found this.

Hiding his anxiety about having to back up Chloe's cover story - which he hadn't been versed on in a while - Bart nodded. "I need to make a phone call, first," he added hastily.

Montoya agreed, and Bart pulled out his cell, dodging around the corner to call Oliver in private. It rang in his hand, though, startling him. He looked at the screen in surprise.

"Hey, Birdie," he answered and before he could say any more, Dinah's exasperated tone came over the speaker.

"Bart, please, please, for the love of God, tell me you aren't in Gotham."

"I am actually. Listen - "

"Bart!" Dinah scolded, cutting him off. "As I just got done explaining to the rest of these _children_, Chloe is a grown woman, and she can date whomever she wants, with or without the team's consent. You boys should be ashamed of yourselves, bursting in on her personal life."

"But - "

"No buts. She's a consenting adult, and I don't care how many magazine covers she gets splashed across. She'll tell you guys about this Wayne-guy if and when she wants. Got it?"

"Got it. But - "

"Good. I expect you back in Metropolis in the next five minutes."

Bart heaved a breath of frustration. "Hang on! There's a serious problem over here!"

* * *

8:25 AM Day 2

Oliver watched in amusement as Dinah chewed out Bart on the phone, arms folded across his chest. Once Dinah had defused the unnecessary search-and-rescue mission the boys had thought up for Chloe, Victor and AC had decided to head out to get donuts for breakfast instead. Just as Dinah was saying something about magazine covers and consenting adults, he felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket.

He answered it. "Hey, Boyscout. Done bailing hay this early? Congrats."

"Very funny, Oliver," Clark answered, his tone serious. "I'm calling about Chloe." Oliver rolled his eyes. "Not you, too."

"Me too, what?" Clark asked, bewildered.

"Nothing. Never mind. What about her?"

"Have you heard from her lately?"

"Not since a couple of days ago, no. Why?"

"Lois was getting frantic yesterday because Chloe wasn't answering her calls, and I started thinking that sounded a bit unusual for her -"

"Chloe always answers her phone," Oliver frowned.

"Exactly. I tried calling her this morning, and I got nothing. The battery was dead and the voice mail was full."

Oliver sat forward in his seat, a sense of nervousness developing in his gut. Chloe letting her phone battery die? That was flat-out unheard of. He opened his mouth to reply when Dinah interrupted, her hand covering the speaker of her phone as she looked at him, concern etched in her eyes.

"Oliver. There's a problem."

* * *

9:35 AM Day 2

Chloe hadn't slept all night, and he back ached in protest at staying seated for so long. She wanted to at least sprawl out on the floor, to relax the muscles in her lower back and ease the tension in her shoulder blades, if only a little, but with the straight-jacket still in place, she wasn't sure she'd be able to sit up again. No need to make herself literally as vulnerable as a turtle on its back.

Harley, however was sleeping peacefully beside her "pet" hyenas, a look of blissful contentment on her face. It was disturbing.

Still, Chloe hoped she'd made some progress with Harley. She knew she had to buy herself time until she could either figure out an escape plan or at least give someone enough time to come rescue her. She wondered if people had even noticed she was missing yet. Planting seeds of concern and empathy in Harley couldn't do her any harm, she figured.

Harley's playful watch had been replaced by a more serious henchman, a large, hulk of a man in a rubber clown mask that was strangely menacing, particularly when coupled with the machine gun in his lap.

Given the choice, she preferred Harley's company any day.

She was debating unlikely means of getting out of the straight jacket without him noticing when the door burst open, revealing Chloe's living nightmare.

Harley and the hyenas jumped awake at the noise, the hyenas snarling and heckling at the disturbance while Harley flung herself into the man's arms, announcing to the world:

"PUDDIN'! You're _back_!"


	15. Chapter 15

–15–

Chloe swallowed tightly, her anxiety amplifying at the presence of the Joker.

"Hiya, Harley," he said to his girl in a sticky-sweet voice that made Chloe think of poisoned syrup. "I brought you something," he said, pulling out a box from behind his back.

Harley squealed in absolute delight, snatching the box and ripping it open. Chloe watched with something akin to nausea as Harley produced a set of throwing knives painted bright red to match her costume. Harley sighed in a disgustingly love-sick manner. "Some girls like diamonds. I like stainless steel."

The Joker laughed in amusement and allowed her to fling her arms around his neck and smack his cheek. Chloe wondered how you could be demented enough to find that man attractive. "So, Harley," he continued, his eyes turning on Chloe as if he could guess her thoughts. "How was our houseguest? Did you girls enjoy your slumber party?"

Chloe kept her mouth shut, determinedly meeting his malevolent stare. She wasn't going to try to rationalize with him. Not with this one. There was no point. She had to count on stalling for time long enough for someone to find her.

"Oh, we had the absolute best time," Harley said, bouncing over to her hyenas to give them breakfast. "We stayed up almost all night talking."

The Joker leered at Chloe and she tried not to quake in her straightjacket. "Did you? Whatever about, I wonder?"

"Boys," Harley drawled.

In her peripheral, Chloe watched Harley toss the snarling beasts a few steaks, and she counted her blessings that they were being fed yet again. Clearly Harley had not yet guessed what purpose they would really serve. But as much as she wanted to keep her attention on the many teeth and claws that might be slicing into her flesh in the immediate future, the Joker was walking closer to her, and somehow he managed to be still more frightening than the hyenas. Leaning right down into her face so she could see every detail of his marred features, he spoke to her. "Do you know who I want to hear you talk about, Chloe?" he asked.

She didn't respond, hoping she didn't look as terrified as she felt.

"I want to hear about the Bat. What do you know about him?"

Chloe steeled her courage. "Nothing," she said through her teeth.

Without warning his hand smacked across her face so hard it sent her entire body flying. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly, his face almost gleeful, as if by resisting she were just making it more fun for him. Water welled up in her eyes from shock, and she felt as if she could trace the burning outline of his hand on her cheek. Harley looked up from her pets to watch, her painted face unreadable.

"Let's try that again. I know you've figured out who he is by _now_, Chloe," he said with a manic kind of cheerfulness. "So why don't you just drop that little ol' name for me?"

"I don't know who he is," Chloe said resolutely. "I'm just doing a study on the criminal psyche. It has nothing to do with Batman!" she yelled, earning a strike to the other side of her face. This time she kept her eyes closed, her face throbbing and the exhaustion weighing down on her. She struggled against the straight jacket to push herself back up but was saved the trouble when the Joker snapped his fingers and the lackey with the machine gun walked over and dragged her to her feet, then slammed her down into a hard wooden chair. At the Joker's direction, Harley tied Chloe to the chair and then stood back to watch the fun begin.

No longer smiling, the Joker told the henchman to aim a pistol at Chloe's left foot. "Now, now, now," Miss Sullivan," he said, pacing around her like a shark circling its prey. "You've just got to give me more credit than that. If you want, we can make a game of it though–"

Chloe's eyes landed on Harley, pleading with her. But Harley's eyes were fixed on the Joker, watching him reverently.

"–How about 'truth or dare?'" he suggested mildly. "See, I'll ask you a question, and if you don't tell the truth, I'll dare Bill here to find a place to shoot you that won't kill you. If you bleed out or pass out before the game is over," he said with a malicious grin, "then you lose. If you tell the truth before the game is up, then I win!" he said, and began laughing hysterically. "But just to show you what a nice guy I am," he said, in a tone of self-devotion, "I'll let you have two questions to start, so you can get the hang of it," he added for her benefit.

"Harley," Chloe said with a desperate note in her voice. "Stop this."

Harley was looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Puddin'?" she said meekly, but the Joker seemed not to hear.

"Question Number One," he announced loudly, "What are you really doing in Gotham?"

"I'm doing a study on criminal psychology!" Chloe barked at him, determined to stick to her story to her last breath.

"AAAAANNNH!" he made an obnoxious sound like a buzzer right in her face, causing Chloe to cringe. "Wrong!"

Bill cocked the trigger on his gun, and Chloe heard a small, depraved giggle slip from his lips beneath the rubber mask that made her blood run cold.

"Question 2, Miss Sullivan," he said in a cold whisper, the twitching at his mouth indicating part of him was hoping she wouldn't answer just so he could watch her scream.

Chloe could feel the sweat beading on her forehead. Her eyes now watching the barrel of the gun unblinkingly, she called for Harley again. "Harley–_Harleen. Please!"_

The Joker ignored her. "Who is the Bat?" he demanded.

Chloe didn't say anything, pressing her lips together.

"Answer the question!" the Joker shouted at her and Chloe shook, her mind flying to Bruce, wherever her was. _God, please let him get here. Let _someone_ find me!_

The Joker brought his attention back to him with another sound slap to her face. "Play the game, Chloe!" he warned.

"Just answer him, Chloe!" Harley said, and Chloe felt the slightest twinge of hope at the sound of encouragement in her voice. Harley wanted to keep Chloe around.

"I don't know who he is," Chloe said quietly.

The smile that spread slowly across his face made Chloe want to vomit. "Bill," he said in indication.

The crack of the gun split the air, mottled by Chloe's shriek of pain. She gasped at the white-hot pain in her left foot, tears springing from her eyes.

In the background, Harley whimpered nervously, though the sound no longer registered with Chloe, whose breathing had turned ragged. She swallowed the plea on the tip of her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Let's try this again," the Joker said gleefully, obviously enjoying himself. "Who is the Bat?"

"I told you I don't know!" Chloe shouted through her tears. "I don't know anything about him!"

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Bi–"

"What if she really doesn't know?" Harley interrupted.

"Oh, she knows!" the Joker said with confidence. "It's plain on her face that she figured it out."

"But–" Harley stammered. "But just say she does–AH!" she cut into a shriek that mingled with Chloe's when the gun went off again, this time sending a bullet through her left kneecap.

Chloe swore under a sharp intake of breath, her eyes now squeezed shut.

"Let's try this again," the Joker said, "just as a review," he added, "every time you don't tell me what I want, you're going to get hurt. Pretty soon I'm going to let Harley put her new knives to use so she can paint a smile on that pretty little face of yours. Won't that be fun, Harley?" he asked Harley, a warning note in his voice.

Harley quailed under his stare and nodded feebly. "Uh huh," she squeaked.

Chloe dropped her head back in anguish, resigning herself to the fact that no one was coming. So this was how she was going to go? Victim of a deranged psychopath and a girl who was so blindly in love with him, she would go along with anything he said.

Even in this state, she still managed a sarcastic little smile. _Figures_, she thought.

The Joker was talking again, probably asking her the same question, but Chloe started tuning him out. There was no point anymore. Silence rang heavy in the air when she made no reply to whatever it was he had asked her.

He threatened her again, but Chloe insistently tuned him out, forcing her mind to think of pleasanter things like the League and Bruce and summers in Smallville with Clark.

She winced as another shot sounded in the air but then opened her eyes in surprise, just in time to see the Joker send Harley flying. It appeared she had tried to stop Bill from shooting Chloe again, throwing off his aim and earning her a brutal blow from her 'Puddin'.'

And then, as if the world were suddenly tilting completely in her favor, Batman finally showed up. Dropping out from the rafters, he kicked the gun from Bill and sent a hard punch to his jaw, Harley's scream of surprise and the Joker's mad giggling in the background.

"I was wondering when you'd come for her, Batsy," the Joker mocked, backing towards Harley as Bill sent an uppercut to Batman's chin. Chloe cringed at the sight, pain and loss of blood starting to tug at her consciousness. She struggled to stay aware, trying to see if she could get the ropes loose, though she didn't what she'd do if she did get free. She couldn't even walk.

Bill, who was of considerably larger size than Bruce, still only got in a couple of hard blows, no match for Batman's intelligent fighting style. But when Bill was unconscious on the floor, and he turned to face the Joker, both he and Chloe received a shock.

The Joker had snatched up Bill's gun and was holding a confused, trembling Harley hostage, the barrel pressed to her temple.

"Mistah J?" she asked meekly.


	16. Chapter 16

–16–

Nausea and chills overwhelmed Chloe as she continued to bleed in the chair. Swallowing dryly, she tried not to vomit, tried to focus on what was happening in the room around her as it spun out of control.

"Joker, let the girl go," Batman snarled.

"Now, now, Batsy, why can't you ever play by the rules? Miss Sullivan and I were playing an awfully fun game just now," he said idly as Harley struggled in his arms, "and you know why it was so fun? Because she _played by the rules!_"

"This isn't a game, Joker!" he half-shouted, and the clown only laughed manically at him.

"You know, I always thought you took things too seriously." He rolled his eyes, grinning maliciously nonetheless. "Here's how we're going to play," he continued. "_You_ pull off the mask, or _I _put a bullet straight through her head."

Harley started crying. "Mr. J, I don't like this game!" she protested.

"Shut up!" he barked at her, pressing the barrel harder against her head. Harley released a pitiful little sound, but otherwise kept her thoughts to herself. Turning back to Batman, the Joker's smile couldn't have been more grotesque. "We're waiting," he reminded in a sing-song voice.

Then, quite suddenly, to the surprise of everyone in the room–except Chloe, who had finally passed out–Harley vanished into thin air, a gust of wind the only thing left in her wake.

Before any of them had a chance to react, a green dart landed itself in the Joker's shoulder. The Clown Prince swayed, and, like a ton of bricks, crashed to the ground.

Chloe woke to a horrible pain in her leg. She groaned, trying to roll over, but a hand reached out to still her, and her leg seemed to be caught on something.

With effort, she forced her eyes open, to see several familiar, welcome faces hovering over her. "Hey, guys," she said weekly, noting that her leg was now in a cast, suspended about a foot and a half, which was why she hadn't been able to move.

Oliver chuckled at her, shaking his head. "See if I ever send you on assignment by yourself again," he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"You had us all worried, Chloe," Clark said seriously, and Chloe reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"I'm fine," she told him, meeting his concerned eyes.

"All I can say is you sure know how to attract 'em," Dinah said, amusement coloring her voice.

Chloe raised an eyebrow and Dinah just smirked.

"The Joker?" she said. "Really? Why do you always get the cool kidnappers? You know who the last person was to try kidnapping me? Toyman. How boring is that?"

Chloe laughed, wincing when her leg moved slightly as a result. She shook her head. "What happened?"

Before they could answer, Bart popped into the room, carrying about ten bags of chips, undoubtedly the result of a hospital vending machine. Said bags of chips immediately went flying when he saw Chloe was awake and he raced to her side, crushing her in a hug. "'Licious!" he exclaimed. "You're up! Are you hungry? I'll get you some food!" And he disappeared again.

Chloe chuckled under her breath. She glanced around the room. "Where's Victor and AC?" she asked.

"They're back in Metropolis," Oliver explained. "Someone had to look after the homefront, I'm afraid. As soon as Bart gets back, I'm going to send him to let them know you're fine."

"They've been calling every hour," Dinah explained.

"Lois?" Chloe questioned weakly.

"She's outside," Clark said with a cryptic glance at the door.

"As is Bruce Wayne," Dinah added smugly.

Chloe's face turned bright red. "Oh?" she said meekly. When no one said anything else, she dodged the issue by asking, "So…what exactly happened after I passed out?"

"Well Batman found you first," Clark explained.

"Thank God," Dinah muttered, shuddering at the state they'd found Chloe in and cringing to think what would have happened if the Batman hadn't gotten there before the Justice League finally did.

"We weren't exactly as familiar with the Joker," Oliver explained in a rueful tone. "It took us a little longer to figure out where he would take you. "Though we should have guessed he'd pick something like an abandoned fun house." His mouth pressed into a thin line, his distaste for their slowness evident.

"But after we found you, I got busy taking out all the guards to the entrance," Clark continued, "and cleared the path for Dinah, Bart, and Oliver."

"Oliver sent Bart in to save the harlequin-woman," Dinah explained.

"And I knocked out the Joker," Oliver finished.

Chloe let this sink in before finally asking. "And Batman?"

"As soon as the Joker was down, he rushed to untie you. At first he wasn't going to let go of you to us, but I promised we would take you to the hospital, and told him he should be the one to bring in the clown," Oliver said.

"He seemed awfully concerned about you," Dinah said, still smirking at Chloe as she leaned comfortably against the wall opposite Chloe's bed.

Chloe blushed again, eyelashes turned down. "Yeah, well," she said. "You know how heroes get."

Oliver snorted and Clark rolled his eyes at him.

"So we're just gonna get out of here," Dinah said as if informing the men of the fact. "And let you see Lois and Bruce. Oh, and I'll let one of the staff know you're up."

Both Oliver and Clark remained stubbornly in place.

"Boys," she warned.

"I want to debrief her," Oliver said.

Dinah raised an eyebrow at Clark, who didn't seem to have an excuse, but didn't want to leave either. "Oliver, you can question her about everything later. Let her rest for now. We're not the only ones who were worried," she reminded.

Oliver sighed and gave in. Leaning down, he hugged Chloe genuinely. "Glad you're all right, Watchtower," he told her.

Clark bent over and brushed a kiss to her forehead. "Let me know if you need anything," he told her.

Dinah opened the door and let the two men lead the way out before exiting herself. A second later Lois burst in and flung her arms around her cousin. "My God!" she said. "I was so freaked out when the police called! I'm so glad you're all right!"

Chloe patted Lois's back, laughing. "Thanks, Lo. I've missed you," she added.

Releasing her, Lois collected herself a little more. "So how are you feeling? Is your leg hurting? Did anyone call the doctor? If you need some more pain meds, I'll go get someone right now."

Chloe's leg was hurting her, admittedly, but she wasn't ready to let Lois leave just yet. "Dinah said she was going to get the doctor," Chloe promised. "How are you, Lois?"

"I'm good. I want you back home like crazy, though," she said. Then, with a glance at the door, she got a sly smile on her face, "Although I suspect we won't be seeing you around Metropolis for a little while, yet. Wanna explain the hunk outside to me?" she asked.

Yet again, Chloe could feel her ears growing hot at the mention of Bruce. "He's…we've been sort of…dating."

Lois squealed. "Ugh, I knew your awesomeness was wasted on Metropolis men. Way to go, cuz. He's totally gorgeous!" She high-fived her cousin. "I suppose I'd better send him in," she added regretfully. "He's been pacing like a caged-tiger out there. It's ridiculous."

"Um…yeah, okay," Chloe said nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear absently.

Lois smiled at her and reached over to smooth her cousin's messy locks. "There," she said, straightening back up. "Total hottie." She winked at Chloe before heading out to get Bruce.

He appeared in the doorway, looking pale and tired, worry etched on his brow. "Chloe?" he asked. "Hey, how are you?"

Chloe smiled automatically at the sight of him. "I'm good. Or, at least, I'm better now," she corrected. "Thank God for Batman," she added, watching his face closely.

Bruce glanced out the window. "Yeah," he deadpanned briefly.

Chloe took a deep breath. She needed to talk to him about it. She opened her mouth with every intention of coming clean, but Bruce cut her off.

"Chloe, do you know what he wanted with you?" Bruce asked. "Why would the Joker go after you?"

She studied him carefully, not answering for a long time. Then, with a sigh, she said, "I think you can guess."

He looked at her grimly, and it was all the confirmation she needed.

"If it helps," she said quietly, "I didn't tell him anything."

Bruce raked an agitated hand through his hair, looking away from her. "It doesn't." Her stomach clenched. "Why don't I just pretend I've never asked this question before," he said wearily, "What are you doing in Gotham, Chloe?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Looking for Batman."

"Why?"

He still wasn't looking at her, and Chloe wished the ground would swallow her. "I work with a team of heroes based in Metropolis who want to recruit…_him_."

He was quiet for a long time, obviously piecing together who the people in her room earlier had been. Then he asked, "How long have you known?"

"Since…after we slept together. I swear I didn't have a clue before that!" she added hurriedly. "I never would have–" she hesitated, "I mean, I wouldn't…cross that line. Not intentionally."

Bruce was rubbing a hand over his face, looking miserable. Finally he looked up at her with a pained expression. "So you're telling me that you knew who I was for less than 24 hours before someone kidnapped you to use you against me?" he asked her.

Chloe's throat constricted and she didn't know how to respond. "It…that wasn't your fault. I had been interviewing the patients in Arkham. I should have known better than to approach the Joker. I was bound to get myself in trouble. Hell," she scoffed, giving him a brave smile, "it's wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. It comes with the…with the job…" she trailed off, realizing he didn't look remotely relieved to hear that.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the doctor finally arrived at that moment, and Bruce left them alone.


	17. Chapter 17

–17–

"This _sucks_," Chloe grumbled for the millionth time as Victor and Oliver helped her into her car.

"Finally!" Oliver said. "Someone who understands!"

"You, shut up," she muttered irritably.

"Hey, I'm just saying I sympathize. You have no idea what it's like being surrounded by people who can't be injured."

Victor didn't comment, looking instead duly sheepish, though Chloe was sure she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

Chloe had been frustrated beyond belief when the doctor informed her recovery time would be at bare minimum of six months.

A little over four weeks later, she was absolutely fed up with depending on everyone else. Everyone had to drive her places; she couldn't reach high shelves–even more of a problem than before getting shot–and everyone in the League was constantly fussing over her. Oliver had pulled her out of Gotham and back home to Metropolis so fast it made her head spin, and though she knew she was fortunate that good ol' Bill had at least missed her patella, she wasn't handling her recovery period all that well.

Meanwhile, as Lois kept pointing out, she was lovelorn. Bruce hadn't returned her calls during the first week, and after that she had given up, not wanting to be the reason he avoided the Justice League. She had sent Oliver in her stead to lay out the cards for Bruce, and though Oliver had made a valiant effort, Bruce insisted that Gotham needed Batman where he was.

He had at least consented to help out if ever they needed him, and Oliver had assured him that the feeling was mutual.

In the car, Oliver glanced wearily at Chloe. She had returned to work at Watchtower with her usual zeal, so really, he shouldn't be worried about her. But he could still sense that something was off, and when he had finally approached Lois and asked if _she_ thought Chloe was all right. Lois's eyes had almost bugged out of her head.

"Thank God! Someone else has noticed!"

They'd pegged it down to one thing: Bruce Wayne. The fact of the matter was that whenever someone mentioned Bruce's name, Chloe seemed to suddenly become deaf in that ear and would loudly changed the subject.

No one, not even Lois, had been able to get out of Chloe what had happened when she spoke with Bruce in the hospital. And in spite of Lois's best efforts, no one had been able to get out of Chloe whether or not she and Bruce had talked at all since then.

Oliver didn't like to get involved. It was none of his business. Even if he was itching to give his friend a call and demand to know whether he'd broken Oliver's Second-in-Command's heart.

This weekend was a particularly sensitive situation. Chloe had agreed to return to Gotham to testify in the cases against the Joker and Harley. Oliver could tell on the trip there that Chloe was not her usual self at all. He was sure she was nervous about the possibility of seeing Bruce again, but more so, he sensed that she was frightened of being in the same room as the Joker. It was why he had volunteered to go with her as well as Victor, who was her personal escort and "wheelchair-pusher" for the trip. He wanted to make sure she felt protected–never mind that she might need so real protection as well, given the nature of these cases.

"I still don't see why I can't just have crutches," she groused as Victor helped her settle in the wheelchair.

"Because nobody trusts you to take it easy on crutches," Victor teased her. Chloe folded her arms and made a 'hmmph' sound.

"Come on, Watchtower," Oliver said, getting out of the car and walking around to their side. "Let's get this over with so we can go to my favorite restaurant for lunch."

"Got everything you need?" Victor asked.

"I've got everything except my dignity," she sighed. Victor chuckled and start wheeling her toward the courthouse.

"You two go ahead," Oliver said, "I'll catch up." He sent Victor a significant look and Victor nodded his understanding.

Chloe frowned helplessly as Victor pushed her away. "Where are you going?"

"Just need to make a few business calls!" Oliver lied.

Well, he had one call to make at least, but aside from that he was positioning himself outside the courthouse as the Green Arrow for the next hour and a half before the trial started to make sure the Joker or his lackeys couldn't try anything.

He pulled Victor's truck into an alley where he made the transition into his costume, then found nearby rooftop where he could see without being seen. Before switching on his voice modulator, he made the phone call.

"Wayne," a voice answered swiftly on the other end.

"Bruce, it's Oliver."

He heard the briefest of hesitations on the other hand. "Queen," Bruce greeted. "Haven't talked to you in a while. What's going on?"

"Don't worry, this is a personal call."

"Oh yeah," Bruce chuckled grimly on the other end. "That makes me relax. What's up?"

"I'm in Gotham for the weekend."

"You have business here?" Oliver could hear the frown in Bruce's voice.

"I don't. A friend does."

A pause. "Oh."

"You want to tell me what happened with you two?"

"None of your business, Queen," Bruce replied curtly. "And if that's all you called about–"

"I didn't call to gossip about her. I called because she's in your town, and I imagine you're going to be seeing her, so as a friend, I'm asking you not to do anything stupid."

"Excuse me," Bruce deadpanned, clearly not amused with Oliver's gall.

"I don't know happened and frankly I don't give a damn. I really don't need to know. But I do know that one of the best members of my team has not been herself lately, and that upsets me a little bit, Bruce," Oliver said coolly.

"Is this the big brother warning me to stay away from his kid sister act?" Bruce asked sarcastically.

"No."

"Well what exactly are you calling about, Oliver?"

"I'm calling to find out how long you plan to be an idiot about this and whether or not it's going to upset my weekend."

"Get lost, Queen."

"Bruce, I know you, and I know all the shit you've been through with women, and I know how broody and angsty you are, and most of the time, man, I sympathize, okay? Most of the time, I get it. _Most of the time_, I understand when you shut stuff out. But I'm here to tell you that there's a reason she's one of the best members of my team, and it has almost nothing to do with the fact that her skill levels are off the charts. She's a good person, Bruce, and you're an idiot if you let her go."

"Is that it?"

"No. That's the friendly advice. I'm calling because you're probably going to run into each other this weekend, and I'm warning you, if you upset her, or make this any more difficult for her than it already is, I will personally come find you, and shove one of your batarangs where the sun don't shine. And then kill you."

"What do you mean, make it more difficult? Make what difficult."

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"She's testifying."

"What? Which case?"

Oliver got distracted from answering when he saw an expensive black car pull up to the courthouse. A tall, dark man on his cell phone stepped out, looking around him. "Both of them," Oliver answered.

Oliver watched as Bruce stilled slightly and heard him sigh over the phone. "Okay."

"All I'm saying is if you don't have anything nice to say–"

"_Goodbye_, Queen," Bruce hung up on him.

Oliver rolled his eyes. If the two of them didn't sort it out this weekend, he might actually have to _let_ Lois interfere, just so he could have some peace in his life again.


	18. Chapter 18

–18–

Bruce drummed his fingers impatiently, watching the court proceedings intently. He could feel his fingers itching for the Joker to make one wrong move. Just one, and he would have no problem putting him back in the hospital.

Of course, it was always hard to explain it away when Bruce Wayne did something heroic, but he would think of something clever. He always did. He would make it look like an accident.

…A painful, spine-fracturing accident that would incapacitate the Joker for life.

Before the trial had officially begun, before the Joker–who was far more interesting than Bruce–had been brought forward, Bruce had been ignoring the occasional heads craning back to see him, the whispers and second glances. They were all wondering what Bruce Wayne was doing at this trial to begin with.

When the press had swamped him outside the courthouse, he had brushed it off easily enough, tossing them that charming grin they loved to photograph and feeding them a heavy hint that he was trying to ask out the new female district attorney. It was cheap and he felt bad that the DA would have to deal with the insinuations for a while, but it had still worked.

For the dozenth time he checked his watch. When would they call their star witness to the stand?

Not that he was thinking about her. He was done thinking about her. Thinking about her would get her killed. He'd almost gotten her killed already, and he wasn't going to carry on with that; it was just wrong.

His carefully masked face began to scowl when he thought of Oliver Queen's phone call. Queen had some nerve telling him how to behave. As if he would be rude to her.

_He wasn't telling you not to be rude_, a voice said in his head. _He was telling you not to be stupid. There's definitely a difference._

He dismissed the thoughts immediately. Queen thought he should ask Chloe to take him back. So did Alfred for that matter, although the butler never actually said it. He just _looked_ it. Bruce folded his arms over his chest sullenly. It was all fine for the pair of them. They weren't the ones who would have to deal with the guilt if something happened to her. He would never forgive himself.

_But if anyone could handle it, she could_, the voice pointed out again. _She _leads_ a team of heroes. _

_Yeah_, he added to himself, continuing the train of thought. _She's already in danger every damn second. Hell if I need to add my problems to that._

He could almost hear Alfred in his head now.

"_Don't you think that should be her choice?"_ Alfred would point out in that infuriatingly calm, sensible tone.

Of course it shouldn't be her choice. Queen was insane to let her anywhere near all this trouble. He certainly wasn't going to be party to that kind of idiocy.

"The prosecution calls Chloe Sullivan to the stand."

He looked up, his drumming fingers finally stilling. His tie suddenly felt tight and he tugged at it, hoping to God that she wouldn't spot him while she was up there. He did his best not to stare when the Bailiff pushed her in.

_Look at that_, he thought. _She isn't even fully recovered yet. She's still in a wheelchair. One more week with me and she'd probably end up in a vegetative state at best._

Contrary to his hope that she might be so concerned with everything else happening that she wouldn't see him, the moment Chloe took her chair at the stand, her eyes met his. He saw the minutest surprise register there, as if somehow she really hadn't been expecting him, and her face paled, though whether that was because of him or the Joker, he couldn't tell.

She tore her eyes from him and they swore her in.

_Why didn't I smile or nod or something? I didn't even acknowledge her. I wonder if she hates me yet_.

"Miss Sullivan, please state in your own words…."

She forgot he was in the room. Through the course of the interrogation, both from the prosecution and the defense, Chloe never once glanced in his direction. He didn't blame her; he could tell reliving the experience with the Joker leering at her two yards away was taking its toll on her. She was strong though. Her story didn't falter once.

_Even the rubbish about writing a book_, he added mentally. Not that he dared hold any of that against her. After all, it wasn't as if he had a great deal of honesty in his life to begin with. He couldn't expect her to be totally forthright when she was protecting the same kind of secrets.

_And it isn't as if she was lying to me because she wanted to. She was undercover_, his conscience reminded him. Vaguely he wondered why his conscience sounded so much like Alfred.

From the stand, Chloe could feel her fortitude waning. The Joker, sitting there in his straight jacket was beginning to laugh, a low chuckle under his breath that reminded her of her first encounter with him. Only now there wasn't a wall of thick glass protecting her. She shook herself as the defense attorney asked her to please _attempt_ to stay focused, his tone sounding as though he thought she wasn't taking this seriously.

_Arrogant jerk_, she thought silently at the lawyer, schooling her facial expressions and asking him to repeat his question.

"I _said_, Miss Sullivan," he rolled his eyes, prominently displaying what a useless invalid he thought she was so as to call her whole testimony into question, "Don't you think that the actions of my client call into question his sanity?"

Chloe stifled a sigh of frustration. As far as she was concerned, the Joker made insane people look boring. But that was the defense's strategy. The Joker's attorney had entered a plea of insanity on the clown's behalf. But Chloe was convinced that he didn't belong in a place like Arkham. It was like coddling him to call him insane. He thought it was a great big joke that society didn't even give him the treatment of an ordinary criminal, that instead he was sent to a padded cell where his mania was allowed to stew and simmer.

"I don't," Chloe answered firmly.

The lawyer gave her an incredulous look, then turned to the jury and started recounting the various symptoms his previous witness—a psychologist—had listed that proved that the Joker was a victim of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and sociopathy—all manifested to the most extreme possible extent in this one person.

"Excuse me," Chloe interrupted after a couple of minutes. "Is there a question in here somewhere?"

The judge nodded his agreement and told the attorney to get on with it.

"I'm only saying," the attorney said in a condescending voice, "Please tell me, Miss Sullivan, why you don't agree that my client is suffering from any of these disorders."

"He does—"

"_He does?_" The attorney drawled incredulously. "Miss Sullivan, may I remind you that you _just stated _that my client is perfectly sane."

"Mr. Simmerman," Chloe said coolly, "if you would allow me to speak more than two words, I will explain what I mean." She paused, as if daring the rude man to continue. "I'm sure you realize the percentage of people who experience mood disorders or personality disorders at at least some point in their lives is shockingly large. And yet, almost none of those people run off on a tangent and attack entire cities. Regardless of what psychological disorders the Joker may or may not be suffering from, I still believe, from everything I have seen, that he is completely in control of his actions. He's been sent away to Arkham Asylum before and nothing has changed. As long as he believes that his crimes will never receive true punishment, the Joker will continue his pattern of murder and chaos. If you want my personal opinion, constantly rewarding the Joker's behavior by not trying him as the criminal that he is is the real insanity in this situation."

At this point the Joker's laughter had grown so disruptive that the judge had to interrupt the proceedings to ask the bailiff to escort him out. Chloe was seething. It was all a facade. The joker knew that the simple trick of uncontrollable laughter had completely undermined everything she'd just said.

Chloe shook her head to herself, sighing when the defense attorney dismissed her with no further questions


	19. Chapter 19

–19–

"I'm surprised you didn't want to stick around to see how things turned out." Victor looked questioningly at Chloe across the table.

It was a day later, and Chloe had just gotten done testifying in the case against Harleen Quinzel. Unlike in the case of the Joker, Chloe had had some sympathy for this captor. She had been sure to emphasize the fact that when push came to shove, Harley hadn't been willing to actually do Chloe serious harm. She, Oliver, and Victor were now sitting in a coffee shop in Gotham as far away from the courthouse as Oliver had been willing to drive them. Chloe looked exhausted, but had insisted that more than she wanted to go to the hotel and rest, she wanted a strong cup of coffee.

Oliver eyed Victor. Really? Was he honestly going to prod her with a stick like that? He sighed.

"Well," Chloe said, quite calmly, "I honestly just didn't want to be there. I'll find out in the papers like everyone else what they decide to do with the clown. And there's a good chance this case will go on for several days anyway."

"Actually," Victor said likely, "I meant I was surprised you didn't want to stick around to see if Wayne wanted to talk to you afterwards."

Oliver could have clobbered Victor. Chloe shot them both a look of daggers. "Hey," Oliver raised his hands defensively. "I wasn't the one who opened that can of worms. Unleash your wrath on him."

"Hey!" Victor gave him a panicked look.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "All right. Out with it."

"Out with what?" Victor raised a confused eyebrow.

"You're not the only ones who've been treating me like I'm made of glass ever since I got back from Gotham a month ago. So go ahead. Give me all the advice and consolation and other crap you've been bottling up since then." She waited, eyes landing first on one, then the other. Both men shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes. "Nothing?" she asked. "Good. Then I don't want to hear anything else about it. I'll be in the car whenever you two are ready to go back to the hotel." With that, she started wheeling herself toward the door, stifling her frustration at not being able to grab her own coffee cup.

Oliver and Victor shot each other a look before going after her, Victor to hold open the door and Oliver to bring her coffee.

"Well, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked when Bruce returned that evening.

"It looks like the jury will probably go easy on Quinzel."

"Ah. And how do you feel about that?"

Bruce thought of Chloe's testimony and frowned. "Only time will tell."

"And what about Miss Sullivan?" Alfred asked.

"She seemed fine," Bruce answered shortly.

"Did you speak with her?"

"I didn't have the chance."

"Hmm," was all the old butler said, clearing a tray away and beginning to exit the room.

"What was that, Alfred?" Bruce called irritably.

"Nothing, Master Bruce."

"Oh?" Bruce questioned suspiciously.

"I simply said 'hmm,' sir."

"Well if what you're implying is that I didn't make an effort to talk to her, then you're wrong."

"Yes, sir."

"They're just wasn't an opportunity."

"I'm sure—"

"Fine! If you're going to keep acting this way, I'll go see her right now," Bruce threw up his hands, shoving away from the dining room table and storming out of the room.

Alfred watched him go with a sigh.

Oliver and Victor were in Chloe's hotel room, their own suitcases waiting by the door as they helped her put away the last of her things. For once, she was too tired to protest that the help was unnecessary. She just wanted her suitcases shut and loaded so they could start heading back to Metropolis and she could continue the process of reconstructing her post-Gotham life.

She was just thinking that the first thing she wanted to do was spend an entire day in a coffee house alone with her laptop when there was a knock on the hotel door. For a fleeting moment her stomach lurched uncertainly, memories of her abduction surging to the surface, but she shook it off. The Joker and Harley were hardly her first time to the rodeo. Kidnappings, life threats, a few bullet-wounds…they came with the gig. She had always been strong enough to compartmentalize and move on before, and she would do so again. She hobbled off the bed for her crutches while Victor answered the door—the boys had finally agreed to let her use them at least part of the time.

"Uh, Chloe?" Victor's voice drew her attention to the doorway, where Bruce Wayne was looking as if he was losing an internal argument. He met Chloe's eyes and her throat felt too thick to swallow all of a sudden.

"Victor!" Oliver said suddenly, "I just realized I left my watch in our room. Help me look for it?"

Victor gave him a weird look before cottoning on. "Oh. Right. Your watch. I think I saw it somewhere," he lied badly. "Excuse us," he said to Bruce, who stepped back to allow the two men past him.

Chloe wanted to fold her arms across her chest in some semblance of self-protection, but the crutches prevented it. Instead she just looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

"You're out of the wheelchair," he commented after a moment, remaining in the threshold, rather than invading the hotel room when she hadn't invited him in yet.

She rolled her eyes. "The boys keep insisting that I won't take it easy if I use the crutches."

He gave a small, amused smile. But the glare she gave him in return dampened it.

"What do you want, Bruce?"

"I…have no idea," he sighed.

"Wonderful," Chloe said sarcastically. "Well come in, sit down. I'm going to make coffee while you think about it."

He chuckled. "Still haven't just set up an IV?" he asked.

She gave him a smirk before turning to the coffee maker on the small counter next to the mini-fridge.

"Look, Chloe, I…I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For not calling, talking to you. For not checking on how you were doing."

She sighed with her back to him. "If that's all you came to say, flowers and a Get Well card would have been sufficient," she said coldly. "I'm about to head back to Metropolis, so I really don't have time to chat right now."

Bruce felt a pang in his chest. "Come on, Chloe."

"Don't give me that," she said sharply, rounding on him. "Bruce, I understand that you were upset. I understand how difficult it was for you, but you of all people should understand why things happened the way they did. And the fact that you're punishing yourself for what happened to me is the most self-absorbed, stupid—"

"Hey!"

"—unrealistic, childish behavior I've ever heard of. It wasn't your fault I got hurt, but even if it were, the idea that you think one bad thing happening means you're not allowed to have any happiness is narcissistic and foolish. You'll make yourself miserable that way and end up alone!" she half-shouted, spilling the coffee grounds in the process. She gave out a frustrated growl, and Bruce rose from the chair to help her.

She resisted at first, but her balance on one foot was too shaky not to give up. Bruce swept the spilt coffee grounds into the sink before turning to look to her, finding she had tears of frustration in her eyes. "Chloe," he said quietly, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said, "not just for being a jerk."

She gave a forced laugh and tried to brush him away, but he wouldn't let her.

"Look, I've been arguing with myself for weeks, Chloe, but I miss you. I want you back."

"You don't know what you want," she argued. "You said it yourself."

"Chloe."

"Look, no!" she protested, finally pulling away from him, awkwardly grabbing the crutches and sticking them under her arms so she could get further away from him. "I don't think you understand. _I_ can't deal with your emotional instability, Bruce! I can't deal with knowing that every time something goes wrong, you're going to take all the responsibility. Don't you get that this is my life, Bruce?" she pointed out. "I've been doing this for a long time, long before I met you, long before Batman was even putting on the mask. There's always going to be accidents and injuries. And if you're going to beat yourself up for all of it, then neither of us is going to be able to handle it!"

"Chloe, that's not fair! Of course I felt responsible! I didn't get there quickly enough. If I'd have been any later—"

"Then I _still_ would have been fine," she stopped him. "The League has my back. And I'm a smart girl. The fact that you refuse to work with them doesn't mean they're not legitimate."

"I didn't _refuse_ to work with them."

"You did. You had a little pouting fest over it."

"I don't pout."

"You're right. You brood. Which is even worse."

"All right, Chloe, you're right. Is that what you want to hear? You're right. I've been feeling guilty and beating myself up and it absolutely terrifies me that you willingly put yourself in those kind of situations on a regular basis. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?" Chloe had an angry rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, but he didn't give her the chance. "But more than anything I've been thinking about the fact that I think I'm falling in love with you and even after staying as far away from you as I could, I still…I just want to find out what it is that we have."

She stared at him, too shocked to respond.

"Give me a chance, Chloe. I'm willing to try if you are." He took a few steps closer to her, and she stood her ground.

"I'm not going to waste time getting hurt by you," she said stubbornly, but she could feel her heartbeat betraying her. She wanted him, too.

"Tell me you don't want it, too. Tell me you don't want to at least give it a shot."

He was right in front of her now. She wished her leg was healed so she didn't have to feel so weak and vulnerable. "Bruce, my life is in Metropolis. I can't just stay here and hide from it."

"You still haven't said you don't want to."

"I promised myself I'd stop falling for heroes!" she said, with a note of hysteria in her voice. "I've done this! It _always _ends up a mess."

"Chloe," he said, placing his hands on her arms and forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I'm willing to try; I think you're worth a risk. All I'm asking is whether you're willing to give me a second chance."

She looked at him, and finally, silently, nodded her consent. Immediately he leaned down and kissed her soundly and the way she sighed with relief told them both everything they needed to know.

* * *

_One Month Later…_

"So let me get this straight," Lois said, leaning in the doorway and studying her cousin. "You're leaving me forever."

Chloe laughed as she held up two dresses in the mirror, a teal one and a gold one.

"The gold," Lois commented.

"Thanks. I'm hardly leaving forever, Lo. I'm just…going for an extended stay."

"That's the same thing as leaving forever!" Lois whined.

"Oh, Lo, don't be so silly. Look, Oliver has work for me in Gotham, and yes, I could handle most of it from Metropolis, but this way I get to see more of Bruce for a few months. I can't keep expecting him to fly out to Metropolis all the time. It's hardly fair."

"What's hardly fair is that I'm losing my coffee-buddy," Lois pouted, but they both knew she wasn't really sincere in her complaints. Lois had been so relieved that Chloe and Bruce were giving things a fair go-'round. She'd never seen her cousin happier than these past few weeks. She positively lit up whenever Bruce was in town.

They'd been taking things slowly, from what Lois understood. Even Lois, who knew Chloe better than almost anyone, realized what an enigma her cousin was, and there was clearly more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. So for the two of them to really get to know one another on an intimate, honest level, well, that was going to take time. But it seemed like they were doing things right. Bruce had been out to Metropolis three or four times in the past month, and now a serendipitous opportunity for Chloe to spend a few months in Gotham had magically presented itself ("I think you're developing a cupid-complex," Lois had accused Oliver smugly.), and it was the chance the couple really needed to spend some real time together again.

Chloe smiled to herself as she folded a few pairs of jeans. It wasn't just about being near Bruce again—although that certainly was cause to smile. She was excited at the prospect of working closely with Lucius Fox and collaborating on Justice League technology with him. While Bruce was still hesitant to officially commit himself to the League as 'member,' he was more than happy to 'sponsor' the project alongside Oliver, as he had termed it. Batman would always be on call if there were a real crisis, but for now he felt his place was in Gotham. Chloe had a feeling that after a few months, she might be able to persuade him to make a steadier commitment to the idea.

In the meantime, some interesting things were happening in Gotham. Besides the fact that Clark and Bruce were becoming the most unlikely friends anyone had ever met, there was a young man shadowing Bruce that Chloe was interested in. Bruce thought he was in over his head, but Chloe thought this Robin-kid had potential. Even more exciting, a week ago, someone calling herself Batgirl had made an appearance. She was a real mystery, and Chloe loved a good mystery.

As for Bruce, well, he kept his emotions close to his chest, but everyone knew he was ecstatic that Chloe had accepted the proposal to work in tandem with Wayne Enterprises as a representative of Queen Industries. Not to mention he liked being able to keep a closer eye on her. It was taking a while to adjust himself to the notion that she was going to be involved in the grittier aspects of his life and the League's, but slowly he was realizing that it made the relationship stronger. They were both on an equal playing field, and this time around, everything was honest and straightforward.

Alfred, of course, was already planning a menu for the first evening Chloe would be spending at the mansion. 

* * *

**Hey everyone! Most of you know what a long-time-coming this chapter has been, and I can only apologize and say that sometimes you lose momentum and sometimes Real Life gets in the way. :) However, I'm pleased to finally be posting a conclusion to what has definitely been a fun story to write.**

**Due to the extremely unusual time lapses that occurred between working on different portions of this story, and even between paragraphs of this chapter, I'm aware that I may very well have missed something with the final chapter. Please, if there are loose ends that I missed, and you would like to hear more about, I want to encourage you to mention it in a review or tweet ( the_BlueSuede). Depending on the material, I will be more than happy to post a short epilogue to give a little closure!**

Thank you so much for your patience!  
Blue  



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